New Moon
by Annie Walker
Summary: Scott McCall and his friends thought no more danger could come to Beacon Hills. They were wrong.
1. Chapter 1: Awakening

**Chapter 1: Awakening**

Peter Hale. The masculine built man could not hide the power of an Alpha werewolf that radiated off him. He strolled away from sniveling Lydia and petrified Derek. He smiled, proud of his newly found accomplishment of coming back to the dead. For now, he would leave his nephew alone. He had other plans to put together.

He stepped into the moon's light for the first time in months. It felt good to be alive. He saw Lydia car parked in front, but he didn't need it. He wanted to run. Feel the wind through his brown hair and claw the dirt with his nails.

Wolfing out, he burst through the forest into town. Once he hit the street, he broke into a clothing boutique. With his claws, he snatched articles of clothing before running out of the store into a deserted alleyway.

Secluded underneath the shadows, Peter transformed into a naked man. He put his new clothes on and walked back into the beaming lights of Beacon Hills. Smirking, he strutted down the street, whistling cheerfully as he came upon a familiar house.

He waited underneath the big oak street, hiding amongst the brush and shadows. It wasn't too long before he spotted two young boys running into the house, their hearts quickening in fear.

The short-cut boy, Stiles he remembered, spoke quickly to the other. "You sure?"

"Yes! I saw him. Right there in front of me. When the police arrived."

"Matt? Matt is the master?"

"It would make sense! He can't swim. And, Jackson saved him."

"Fair points, but how is he connected to the 2006 swim team? Huh? How is that possible? Matt had to be like, what? Twelve?"

"I don't know!" growled the werewolf.

Scott McCall had grown in strength since Peter could remember. The boy, with no shaggy hair anymore, had developed well into his werewolf abilities. Peter smiled again. Scott has changed a lot since his time as a human.

Peter stepped out from the shadows, stalking forward to the front door. He wondered if Scott could sense his presence. Or, if Scott did, would he brush off as nonsense.

Seconds later, Peter found himself by the front door and kicked it opened.

Peter already stepped over the threshold when the two boys clattered down the stairs, stopping in their tracks when they saw him.

Scott's face paled considerably. "You?"

Peter Hale slammed the door behind him and straightened his jacket. "Yes," he said. "Me."

Stiles gaped at the newly revived Alpha werewolf, confounded by the revelation. "H-How are you alive? We burned you! Derek killed you!"

"Thank you for the reminder Stiles," said Peter. "But, I don't need a play-by-play. I was there."

Scott's jaw tightened and his eyes were becoming lighter in color. "How are you alive?"

"A little assistance," said Peter, "at the right time." Peter studied Scott and Stiles's puzzled faces. "What? You think once they're dead they can't come back?"

"Well that's how the life cycle works," said Stiles, but he became silent when the Alpha glared.

Scott, however, didn't back down. "Congratulations," he muttered. "So, now you're on a new revenge killing spree? Going to kill all the ones that participated in your supposed death?"

Peter chuckled darkly and strolled forward. "No. Not yet. I've got other things I have to do now. Other things that require my attention than killing rugrats."

Stiles and Scott glance at each other before looking back at the Alpha. "Then what are you doing here?"

Peter Hale stepped closer to the two boys. Stiles breathed in deep and Scott stood guard in front of Stiles, ready to fight off the resurrected Alpha.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You really think that I will kill you?"

"Didn't stop you last time," answered Scott.

Peter tilted his head. "Scott—I would never hurt you."

Scott blinked. Peter's statement sounded sincere. Truth. Yet, Scott's gut told him not to believe him. Also, he didn't mention not killing Stiles.

"Answer the question," spoke Stiles. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

Peter picked up one of Scott's mother's picture frames. He stared at it for a long moment before setting it down. "I'm here to pick Scott up."

Scott was taken back. "What?"

"Something big is coming this way, Scott," said Peter. "It would be nice to have you on my side."

Scott's nose flared. "Like hell I will."

Peter curled his fist and uncurled them to reveal his long claws. "I thought I'd try going the nice route, but, apparently, I should just give up on that route."

Scott wolfed out and shoved Stiles out of the way. The push caused Stiles to trip over the stairs and fall down. He scurried backwards into the wall as Peter shoved Scott into the wall. Scott slumped down, gasping, but he stood up again and attacked. Peter immediately tossed him like a rag doll to the other side of the door.

Stiles, afraid for his best friend, crawled over to stop Peter from harming his friend. Peter Hale, however, kicked Stiles and he flew back to the stairs.

"Leave him alone!" cried Scott.

Scott charged at Peter and knocked him down. Peter flew down the hall, landing further away from the two boys. Scott looked over at Stiles and ordered him to run. Stiles ran to the door, but the front door swung open to reveal Derek.

Derek fanged out. Peter realized his disadvantaged and stared straight at Scott.

"Well, Scott, I must say, you are certainly growing into your powers," he said. "Your father must be proud."

Before Scott could question Peter's comment, Peter burst through the backdoor and ranaway.

Scott ran down the hallway and examined the broken door. He turned around back to Stiles and Derek.

"Why did he say about my Dad?" asked Scott.

Derek shrugged. "I don't know."

"Nevermind that," said Stiles. "How the _hell_ did he come back from the grave?"

Derek, his jaw locked and looking frustrated with himself, spoke. "Lydia. She…followed did some sort of spell."

"Lydia?" gasped Stiles. "She—She's in cahoots with him?"

"No, I think she was forced to do it by him."

"Him?" said Scott. "How? He's—was—dead!"

"I think he did something to her when he bit her," explained Derek. "She didn't turn into a werewolf or die. Maybe he implanted some sort of memory or something in her."

"Or something?" said Stiles. "That's all you have?"

"Listen, Stiles, we can't dwell on the past at the moment," barked Derek, his eyes glowing. "He's back. There's nothing we can do about that now."

"Why because the big bad is coming?"

Derek paused. His reaction would be if Stiles smack a pillow into his face. Derek's face paled. "What do you know?"

Scott shrugged. "Peter said something about something coming and that he needed me on his side."

"That's all?"

"Yeah!"

The muscles in Derek's face relaxed. "Okay. Listen, just stay here. Don't go anywhere."

Derek headed out the door, but Scott followed him out. "Derek! Derek!" he cried. "What's going on? What's coming?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," answered Derek.

"Derek!" Scott ran ahead and blocked Derek's path. "Stop hiding things from me! I want to know the truth! What's coming?"

Derek growled frustratingly. "I-I can't tell you because I don't really know."

"Then what _do_ you know?"

Stiles walked upon the porch, watching the two werewolves talk.

Derek shoved his hands into his leather jacket pocket's. "All I know is that someone is coming. Someone powerful enough that could kill us if we don't stay united as a pack."

"Someone? Like another werewolf?"

"I don't know," he said, half-heartedly. "I just know as a pack, we'll be stronger."

Derek jabbed his thumb back to the house. "Now, go back to your house and stay there. Don't go anywhere."

Derek moved around Scott, walking back onto the road. Scott turned around. "But I have school tomorrow."

Derek didn't answer. He walked away, but Stiles joined Scott on the lawn. The two stared where Derek last stepped, both feeling unsure.

"And I thought the Kanima was bad," said Stiles as he looked at his best friend. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

Stiles looked over his friend again. "You're not bothered by the big bad, are you?"

"I am," said Scott, bowing his head.

Stiles sighed. "Your dad?"

Scott nodded gravely. "What did he mean about my Dad being proud?"

Stiles seemed as lost as Scott on the subject. Then, they heard a wolf howl and the two boys jerked. They ran back inside the Scott's house, slamming the door closed.

"Things keep getting better and better, don't they?" said Stiles.


	2. Chapter 2: Advice

**Chapter 2: Advice**

Scott's mother was not pleased to come home and discover her back door in the middle of her backyard.

Scott and Stiles lied, taking the blame by telling her they wrestled and accidently knock the door down.

"So, you decided to take it outside?"

"Yeah." They both said in unison.

Mrs. McCall sent Stiles home immediately and made Scott pick up the broken pieces of the door.

"Scott, I don't know what's happening with you lately," she said and Scott watched his mother's eyes droop down in exhaustion. "You've become a different person. Do I need to send you to a psychiatrist?"

"A psychiatrist?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. McCall, throwing her hands up. "I've tried talking, but it's not working." She paused, nibbling the bottom of her lip. "Should I call your Dad?"

Scott's heart skipped a beat. "Dad?"

"Yeah! You're father?" said his mother. "Is this all because you are, well, need a father…"

Scott shook his head. "No! No, I'm fine. I'm just stressing with other things. No, I don't need to speak to him."

Mrs. McCall let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, well, I know it hasn't been easy for you since the whole divorce thing."

"Yeah."

"But, I'm going to change my shifts around so that I can spend more time with you," said his mother, caressing her son's hand. "Okay? Then, maybe we can talk about what's really going on here."

Scott nodded his head though he doubted his mother had anything to say about what he's going through at the moment.

Scott's mother smiled. "Good, now, clean this up and you're grounded."

Scott snapped up. "What?"

"You are only allowed to go to school and the vet's office. Then straight home. No more Stiles or Allison or parties. No more. And you're going to buy a new door and put it back together."

After the final punishment, Mrs. McCall stepped upstairs and Scott heard it start washing her teeth. Scott growled softly before barricading the open space with the broken door and the kitchen table.

Then, slowly, he went upstairs passing his mother's room on the way when he got to thinking. He tapped on his mother's door and Mrs. McCall opened.

"What is it honey?"

"Could you tell me about Dad?"

Mrs. McCall looked surprised. "You know your father."

"I mean," said Scott. 'What he was like before me?"

Mrs. McCall arched an eyebrow. "Before you? You mean, how I met him?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. Was he different? Was he from around here?"

Mrs. McCall shook her head. "No, he wasn't from around here. We met at one of the local bars. He was sincere and everything. A nice man for the most part. Kept mostly to himself." Mrs. McCall stopped and her eyes faded into a recent memory before coming back to reality. "Then, he changed and didn't become the man I married or the father I would want for my child."

Scott nodded. He remembered his father's taunting words and rising temper. He was devastated that his parents got in a divorce. Most kids were. But, he was also secretly happy his father was out of his and his mother's lives.

Mrs. McCall stared at her son, concerned. "Are you sure you don't need to talk to your—"

"No, I'm good," said Scott. "I was just wondering because a guy from town knew him. I just wanted to know."

Mrs. McCall nodded slowly. "Yeah, well, he'd lived here for twelve years. People are bound to remember him somewhat." Then, she whispered. "Even if we tried not to."

Scott, seeing the sad look upon his mother's face, reaching over and embraced her. "I love you Mom."

Mrs. McCall returned the hug. "I love you too."

They broke off and both went their separate ways. Scott changed into his sleeping shorts and listened to his mother's steady heartbeat that assured him that she was now asleep.

Scott rolled over, thinking about what Peter Hale said. Did his father hang-out with werewolves?

The question haunted him throughout the night.

_**BREAK**_

The next school day was dull. Every student passed through the hallways like a routine. Go from one classroom to the next. Stop, talk, grab books, go to class, and repeat. The teachers were busy putting lesson plans from ideas to actions and the kids tried their best not to fall asleep as the teacher spoke.

For Scott, his mind was buzzing, but not over the tales of the Battle of Shiloh. The moment Scott saw Stiles in the morning, he told Scott the bad news: Allison's mother passed away.

"Died? From what? How?"

Stiles shrugged. "I don't know,, but it seems like she committed suicide."

"Suicide?" repeated Scott. "Why would she commit suicide?"

"I don't know. Do I look like the type of person she confides to?"

Scott leaned back against the row lockers. "Why He kept thinking about Peter Hale, the big bad that's coming, and his father. Not to mention, Allison wasn't in school today and nobody seemed to know why. He tried to call her several times, but she wouldn't answer. He left text messages, but, again, no answer. He began to panic, but Stiles calmed him down.

"Stop! Just listen," Stile said. "Can you hear here?"

Scott concentrated, listening for Allison's voice. He scanned the walls of school, then to her house. It was there that he heard Allison's voice. It was cracking and sniffling. She was crying.

"She's crying," said Scott.

"Well, she did just lose her mother," reminded Stiles. "Is she safe?"

"She's at her house."

"Good," said Stiles. "Now you can focus on the main problem at stake."

Stiles kept talking about the other night as well, blubbering on and on about Peter and what to do next throughout the school day. Scott answered, unconvincingly, that he didn't know. He was too busy thinking about Allison and her mother.

"Scott, this is serious," said Stiles as the last bell rang freedom to the teens' ears. "With Peter Hale back, we're all doomed. We are all on his hit list."

"He said he wouldn't kill us."

"Uh—No, he said he wouldn't kill _you_," corrected Stiles. "Big difference from "you" and "us." I mean, he's going to claw us down like chew toys."

"Stop it!" cried Scott, his heart rate picking up and prickles of facial hair grew along his jaw line. "Stop…stop talking about it okay?"

Stiles bowed his head. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just…scared."

"You're not the only one," said Scott, feeling his inner wolf retreating back into hiding. "We still have to deal with Matt."

"Who was inconveniently not here today," said Stiles.

"And neither was Jackson," added Scott.

The two arrived to the bikes and Scott began to unlock his bike.

"Why don't we just go to his house and stop him?" suggested Stiles.

"With what?" asked Scott, "Your ADHD and my furry wolf problem? He's not exactly stoppable at the moment."

"Why don't you talk to your doctor friend?" said Stiles. "Your boss."

"Dr. Deaton?"

"He knows a lot about the supernatural than we do."

Scott agreed. "All right," he said. "I'll ask him for help. You just…stay safe for now."

"And how do I do that?"

"Be around water."

_**BREAK**_

Scott was busy cleaning and sterilizing the metal examine table when Dr. Deaton came around to him.

"Busy day, busy day," said Dr. Deaton. "Thank goodness I can go home and relax now."

Scott put down the spray bottle. "Dr. Deaton," he started. "We're in trouble."

Dr. Deaton turned around, his face growing serious. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"The Kanima master," said Scott. "We figured out who it is, but we don't know how to stop it."

Dr. Deaton stepped over to the examine table, the light shinny his baldhead. "Well, Scott, there are two options to stop the Kanima master."

Scott perked up. "How?"

"Kill."

Scott's face fell.

"Or save the Kanima."

Scott perked up again. "Save Jackson? But, how?"

Dr. Deaton pulled his jacket off and draped it over a nearby chair. "Jackson's a kanima because he has gotten over something from his past. Correct?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah."

"So, the only way to get him out of the Kanima master's control is to—."

"Resolve Jackson's past," finished Scott. " Solve the problem that has defined Jackson."

Dr. Deaton nodded. "Do you know anything that has bothered Jackson or troubled him before?"

Scott didn't need to think. "Yes, the death of his parents."

"Then you need to resolve it," replied Dr. Deaton. "Help Jackson resolve his desire for his biological parents. Then, he will no longer be a kanima and the master will lose control."

Scott thanked Dr. Deaton and picked up the sprayer and rag, but the vet could see through the relieved façade. "There's something else on your mind, isn't there?"

Scott shook his head. "No, no nothing. Just…I got a lot of things."

He didn't fool the vet. "Scott, what's really troubling you?"

Scott set the spray and rag down again. "Allison…her mom."

"Ah…yes, I heard about it," he said. "That must be tough. To lose a mother."

Scott agreed, not wanting to image his own mother lying in a coffin. "Yeah, but I don't understand why she would do that? I mean, she tried to kill me and—."

"Sometimes, people can't explain the actions of others," said Dr. Deaton. "It is best to simply be there for comfort and to listen."

"I feel like it's my fault though," said Scott. "Maybe if I had died, then she—."

"Dying wouldn't solve the problem Scott," Dr. Deaton strongly stated. "It would only make things worse."

Scott let out a long, uneasy breath. "I just wish things would get simpler rather than more complicated."

"That's how life works, Scott. Especially for you."

"Yeah," mumbled Scott. "Tell me about it."

The mumbled and the agonizing pain etched on Scott's face convinced Dr. Deaton there was more going on behind those brown eyes.

"Is that all that's bothering you Scott?"

Scott flicked his eyes up to his boss. Then, let out murmured. "Peter Hale is back."

Dr. Deaton didn't seem surprised, but a look of alertness was present in his eyes. "I see," said the vet. "Did he come for you?"

Scott nodded his head. "Yeah, he asked me to side with him."

"What did you say?"

"No."

Dr. Deaton took a long moment to himself. "I'm not surprised that he managed to come back beyond the grave."

"You mean you knew he would do it?"

Dr. Deaton shook his head. "No, but I knew it was possible. Power hungry people don't give up, Scott. That's what makes them monsters."

"So, he _is_ going to try to kill us," mumbled Scott and Dr. Deaton looked away.

"I'm sorry Scott," he said.

"What I don't get is," continued Scott, who didn't hear Dr. Deaton, "why did he ask me to join him again? I tried to kill him! We succeeded in killing him."

Dr. Deaton shrugged. "I don't know. Possible attachment since you were his first bitten werewolf. Possibly think he owns you since he bit you."

"He doesn't _own_ me," growled Scott.

"I'm just listing out theories," said Dr. Deaton, lingering a moment at Scott's face before glancing about the room. "Listen, Scott, I think you've done enough today. Maybe you ought to go home. Get a good night's rest before school tomorrow. I'll close up tonight."

Scott rubbed his face, his eyes weary. "With everything going on right now," he said. I doubt I will be able to sleep. I could barely sleep last night. When Peter mentioned my dad—."

Dr. Deaton snapped his attention to Scott. "What?"

Scott jumped back by Dr. Deaton's sharp tone. "I, um, Peter Hale. Mentioned—He said something about my dad being proud of me."

Dr. Deaton's face turned grave. Suddenly, his shoulders drooped low. He rubbed his forehead as if received a headache pang. For a moment, the two didn't speak to each other. Scott heard his boss's heart beat faster. He looked somewhat devastated then as if someone laid a guilt blanket on him.

Scott walked around the examine table. "Why? Did he know him? Did Peter know my dad?"

Dr. Deaton dropped a hand onto Scott's shoulder. "Scott," he said. "I think it's about time you know the truth."

Scott was puzzled. "The truth?"

"Yes," said Dr. Deaton, pulled two chairs together and gesturing Scott to take a seat. "The truth about you and who you are."


	3. Chapter 3: Answers

**Chapter 3: Answers**

Derek Hale hurried back to his secret lair where he discovered his three werewolves back to their human forms. He unchained them all in quick sessions. Isaac rubbed his wrists and Erica gingerly touched her forehead where there were once holes.

"So, we made it through the night?" said Erica.

"Not quite," answered Derek. "We got things to do."

"Things?" said Isaac. "What things? Did you find out who the Kanima's master is?"

"That's not our concern at the moment."

"Not our concern?" Boyd stepped from behind, approaching Derek. "What do you mean not our concern?"

"There's something else we need to worry about us or we will all be dead."

The three young werewolves stopped and stiffened. Yet, confusion creased their forehead in waves of wrinkles. Boyd regained his voice first. "What do you mean?"

Derek dropped the metal chains in the box and snapped the lid closed. "My uncle…Peter Hale…he's back."

"I thought he was dead," said Isaac.

"Yeah, well, he was and now he's back!" said Derek. "And he's going to kill us."

"Or just kill you," spoke Erica. "After all, we did nothing."

Derek glared at her and she whimpered back. "No, he will kill you. He won't find anyone of you useful."

"But, we're werewolves!" cried Isaac. "He—."

"He won't find you strong enough," growled Derek. "He won't find any use of you and then kill you."

Isaac went silent, staring down at his torn clothes. "What about Scott?"

"What about him?" said Derek, off-handily.

"Will Peter kill him too?"

Derek remained quiet for a moment. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" repeated Boyd, "You said Scott helped kill him."

"Scott was Peter's first werewolf. He's the one that bit him. There could be some attachment, I don't know," said Derek. "If he wanted him dead, he would have killed him when he came by his house tonight."

"Peter went to Scott's house?" said Isaac, alarmed. "What happened?"

"Just a few tosses," said Derek. "Nothing else before Peter fled. All we have to do is get ready."

"For what?" asked Erica, "To kill your uncle?"

"No," said Derek, bringing out his claws. "For war."

_**BREAK**_

Scott sat down in the chair.

He felt unnerved by the sudden seriousness and guilt on his boss's face. Dr. Deaton took the other seat, looking rather stressful. Scott wished he didn't mentioned anything about Peter or his father, but it was too late. Dr. Deaton began speaking.

"I wanted to tell you Scott," he began. "I wanted to tell you the minute you turned into a werewolf. But, I didn't. Which was probably a mistake. No. Is a mistake." Dr. Deaton looked over into Scott's eyes. "I was just trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" said Scott.

Dr. Deaton nodded. "Scott, your father came to Beacon Hills years ago. I knew him."

"Did Peter Hale know him?"

Dr. Deaton nodded again. "I'm sure he did."

Scott leaned back in the chair, trying to become comfortable, but it was hard. The tension and the excitement were causing his bones to shift uncomfortably. He could feel his claws growing out, but he curled his fingers back to hide them from Dr. Deaton.

Dr. Deaton got up and poured himself a cup of water. "Your dad came into my office sixteen years ago. A few days after your birthday."

Scott's interest perked up. "Why would he come to you? What did you talk about?"

"You," said Dr. Deaton and he chugged the water.

"Me?"

Dr. Deaton placed the cup down. "Yes, he came in here because he was concerned about you."

"That's a first," mumbled Scott as the Dr. Deaton maneuvered his way back to his seat.

"He was concerned about your condition."

"Condition? Dr. Deaton, you're not making any sense."

"Scott," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow that made Scott's stomach fill with dread. "Your father is a werewolf."

Scott stood up from his seat, towering over his boss. His mouth gaped open. "My dad's a _what_?"

"He's a werewolf."

Scott's heart plummeted and he started to pace around the medical room. "No, that's impossible because if he was a werewolf, then so would I? I mean, Derek Hale was born a werewolf! I would have been born a werewolf too."

"Scott, please, sit down," said Dr. Deaton. "I will explain everything to you if you sit down."

Scott sat down and Dr. Deaton began to speak once again. "Yes, that's true. Most human/werewolf babies are born as a werewolf. However, you were different. You were special because your human gene was more dominant."

"Okay, but that doesn't help me understand—."

"Your father came to me to ask why you weren't a werewolf," continued Dr. Deaton. "I explained to him that not all hybrids are werewolves. But, your father refused to believe it possible that _his_ child was not a werewolf."

"So, what? He didn't think I was his?"

"No, you were his," said Dr. Deaton. "So, to cheer him up, I informed him that you might grow into your heritage later. Like in a few years."

"Okay."

"Years came by and your father returned. He claimed that your werewolf genes have not kicked in and wanted to find out why. I gave him the same answer as I told him before." Dr. Deaton sighed. "Again, he refused to believe it. I told him the only way possible to bring your werewolf genes out in you is to get a bite."

"A bite?" said Scott, his temper rising. "You told him to _bite_ me?"

Dr. Deaton calmed him down. "Scott, remember, only Alpha's can do the biting."

"Is my Dad an…an Alpha?"

Dr. Deaton shook his head. "He's a Beta. Like you. Or, well, maybe he's not anymore. Depends if your grandfather is still alive."

"My grandfather? He's a werewolf too?"

"Of course," said Dr. Deaton. "You come from a long line of werewolves Scott."

Scott's mouth dropped. "I-I do?"

"Yes, which was why your father was so desperate," continued Dr. Deaton. "He was ashamed of having a human child."

"That explains a lot about his behavior toward me," said Scott, remembering his father's angry burst and telling him repeatedly that Scott didn't have asthma.

"However, he refused to contact his Alpha, your grandfather," said Dr. Deaton. "And, he was afraid to show you to his werewolf pack because you were human."

Scott became confused. "What does it matter if I was human? Derek said a few of the members of the Hale pack were human."

"Your father's pack is different than the Hale's. It's different from any pack."

"How could it be different? They're werewolves!"

Dr. Deaton paused for a long moment and he seemed to reconsider telling Scott the truth. Scott waited in anticipation, leaning over his seat, eager to know the real truth about his dad.

Finally, after a long moment of consideration, Dr. Deaton spoke. "Your family, Scott, your bloodline, comes from the Originals."

Scott stared. "Originals?"

"The first werewolves to walk the earth," said Dr. Deaton. "You are their descendents. Their last descendent." Dr. Deaton fixed his eyes onto Scott's eyes. "You're the Originals' heir."


	4. Chapter 4: Acknowledging

**Chapter 4: Acknowledging **

Scott staggered up from his seat, slowly backing away from Dr. Deaton.

He couldn't believe what he just heard. A descendent. Of the Originals. It couldn't be right. It was impossible. Him! Part of the Original bloodline. A member of its family. It's pack!

"No, no…no. That's impossible," said Scott. "I can't be some descendent of the Original werewolves. I was _human_!"

Dr. Deaton stood onto his feet, his hands in his pockets. "Easy Scott, I know it's quite a revelation to you—."

"No!" Scott growled loudly. _This is a nightmare!_

"Scott, it's why your dad came to me," said Dr. Deaton. "It's why he never called down his pack to show them its newest member to the family. No one in the Original family ever had a human child before. That's what makes you special."

"I don't want to be special!" yelled Scott. "I just want to be normal like before."

"You were never normal Scott. You were always part werewolf. Peter's bite didn't turn you into a werewolf. It reawakened your werewolf gene."

Scott paced back and forth again, ruffling his hair frustratingly. "So, you're saying I can't be normal. Ever?"

Dr. Deaton bowed his head. "I'm sorry Scott."

Scott sunk to the floor. He dropped his head onto his knees and wrapped his arms behind his neck. Coldness draped over him like a thin sheet of ice. He was a born monster. Worse, a descendent of the Originals. The reasons why others have been cursed and forced into a horrible life. His family was behind it all. They cursed the world.

Dr. Deaton knelt down next to Scott. "Scott, it's going to be okay."

"No it's not," said Scott's muffled voice. "I-I don't want to be this. I don't want to be a werewolf or a descendent."

"Scott," said Dr. Deaton. "Don't make those things define you. You are still a person. A better person than your father is. You're special."

Scott lifted his head. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"What? Special?"

"Yes!"

"Because you are, Scott," said Dr. Deaton, slightly beaming. "Maybe your father couldn't see it, but I did."

"See what?"

"You're not normal as a human or as a werewolf," answered Dr. Deaton. "Because of you're half human, you have better control over yourself when you transform. You were able to blend in with human society more than other werewolves. Because you are a descendent of the Originals, you are a more powerful werewolf."

"I don't see how that makes me special."

"Because of your human half," said Dr. Deaton. "You contain your conscious. You feel the slight urge to kill, but you always manage to pull back. That's your human half, Scott. It's what keeps you—."

"From becoming a monster," finished Scott.

Dr. Deaton sighed, but Scott knew he was right. He reminisced about the times he had the urge to kill. He thought it was hard to pull back, to keep the wolf inside of him contained. But, now, after learning of his heritage, he couldn't believe that other werewolves have a harder time fighting against the urge to kill. He just couldn't imagine it.

Dr. Deaton wrapped an arm around Scott. "I'm so sorry Scott. After watching you grow up, I prayed every day that you wouldn't succumb to your wolf gene."

Scott didn't say anything.

"I tried to protect you the best I could," continued the vet. "I even offered you a part-time job to keep an eye on you." Dr. Deaton sighed, "In the end, fate had a different plan for you."

Scott raised his head to meet the vet's eyes. "What do I do?"

Dr. Deaton gently patted Scott's back. "Just follow your heart. Your human heart. The same heart that has so far guide you through this past year."

The vet stood up and gathered a few things. "I think it's best you go home Scott. Get some rest."

Scott stood up and headed toward the door, but paused. He turned around, facing the vet. "Is that why Peter won't kill me? Because I'm _that_."

Dr. Deaton straightened his back. "It's a sin to kill an Original."

"Why?"

"Originals are practically royalty," said the vet. "Kill one, you're dead. Have one on your side, you're powerful."

"So, Peter wants to use me to gain more power?"

"Probably and he'll try to force you, but don't give in," warned Dr. Deaton, but immediately added, "Remember, follow your heart."

Scott nodded and opened the front office door. As he stepped out in the night, Scott heard his boss call out once more.

"I would advise you not tell Allison who you are," said Dr. Deaton. "The hunters will kill you despite you never shedding any human blood. To them, Originals are the worse.

"So, be careful, Scott," he said at last, his words carried with burden.

Scott exited out the door and Dr. Deaton could hear Scott's bike tires wheel off. "Because you're destined to be the most powerful of them all."

_**BREAK**_

When Scott returned to his house, he went straight to his bedroom and dove into his bed. He buried his head under his pillow.

Then, Stiles jumped through.

"Ow!"

"Jesus!"

Stiles tumbled off the bed and landed with a thump on the wooden floor. Scott removed his head from his pillows and looked down at his friend.

"Stiles? What are you doing here?"

Stiles got up and sat next to Scott. "What am I doing here? Dude! Remember? The Kanima? Peter Hale? Ring any bells? What did your boss say?"

Scott rolled over, staring straight up at the ceiling. "Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"You—," Stiles's face went wild. "You forgot to ask him?"

"No!" Scott sat up and leaned against the windowpane. "I asked."

"Okay! What's the plan?"

"We, um, we got to some how resolve Jackson's past," answered Scott. "That way there's no Kanima Matt can control."

"Resolve Jackson's past?"

"Yeah, like getting him to come to terms about his parents' death."

Stiles made a wide o-shape with his mouth. "Easy. Piece of cake. Talk to Jackson about his biological parents," Stiles voice hummed with sarcasm. "Okay, yeah, that shouldn't be too hard. Right?"

"Unless we do it right," said Scott. "Instead of simply locking him up in a van."

"Of course," agreed Stiles. "Yeah. Then, it's all easy from there. It'll be a one quick little get together. Unless of course Matt kills us first or, worse, Peter."

"Peter won't kill us."

Stiles waved his finger at Scott. "There you go again," said Stiles. "He said he wouldn't kill _you_—."

"Yeah, well, if he wants me on his side, he won't kill any of my friends!" growled Scott. "Or anyone for that matter."

Stiles dropped his finger and stared worriedly at his best friend. "I know you're scared at all of this and, trust me, you're not the only one."

Scott got off his bed and headed to his bathroom sink. "It's not that."

Stiles stood up from the bed. "What? You afraid that he'll force you to kill us like he did at the school that one night?"

Scott swung around, his eyes glowing yellow. "STILES! HE WON'T KILL _ANY_ OF US!"

Stiles fumbled back onto the bed, raising his arms up. "Sorry, easy, just calm down."

Scott rubbed his face and the yellow tinted eyes returned to their normal brown. "I'm sorry," he said as he walked back into the bedroom. "I just…I found out something."

Stiles sat up, alerted. "About what?"

"My Dad," answered Scott as he fell into his computer chair. "Stiles, I'm a descendent of the Originals."

Scott explained to Stiles everything Dr. Deaton told him. Stiles gave no expression as Scott fed him more news about his newly found heritage and his rank amongst the supernatural world. It wasn't until the end that Stiles finally spoke.

"Well, that's great," said Stiles, emotionless. "Just another thing to add to the list of awesomeness and crazy. I can't believe it. My best friend is a descendent of the Original werewolf."

"And I'm the most hunted werewolf," added Scott. "My relationship just got more complicated with Allison."

"That's all you can say? Dude! You're a badass werewolf!"

"I don't feel like one," said Scott. "And, what am I going to do? Kill Allison's father and grandfather? Right after she lost his mom?"

Stiles scratched the back of his head. "Fair point," he said. "Okay, so, you and Allison will have a rocky patch, but you'll overcome it."

Despite Stiles good intention statement, Scott still gloomed over the revealing fact. Stiles, however, had already forgotten about the Allison drama. He was trying to solve how to stop the Kanima and the Master. He drafted a plan out, but his voice drifted over Scott's head. How many people knew who he was? Peter Hale knew. Dr. Deaton knew. Did his mother know the truth? Was that why she never mentioned his father, ever, to him since the divorce? Did Derek even know?

"Maybe, we could bring Jackson to the site of his parents' death?" suggested Stiles. "Maybe even try a séance?"

Scott nodded his head, agreeing with everything Stiles was saying. He couldn't focus on the fact that the Kanima was still running rampage throughout the town or that Matt, a kid who hates him, is controlling Jackson. He couldn't focus on what new plans Peter Hale had up his claws. Of that the fact Derek was howling for him to come to the lair for a meeting.

"Is it even possible to do a séance?" asked Stiles. "I can google it. What do you think Scott?"

Scott nodded his head.

Stiles slammed a pillow into Scott's face. Scott jolted and snapped his attention back to his best friend. "What?"

"Were you listening to anything?"

"Something about a séance?"

"We have one for Jackson so he could speak to his parents," explained Stiles.

"Okay, sounds good, but, um," Scott paused. "Do they even work?"

Stiles shrugged. "I have no idea, but if werewolves and kanimas exist, then it maybe séances can too."

"Sounds logical," agreed Scott. He pushed back his heritage revelation behind him, focusing (as hard as possible) to help Stiles release Jackson from Matt. "What do we need for a séance?"

Stiles came over to Scott's computer, pushing Scott and his chair to the side a little to make more room for himself. Stiles rapidly typed up information on séances and the two researched together.

"I've composed a list," said Stiles, handing Scott a list of materials needed.

Scott read down the list "Candles, a tablecloth…white roses? Why white roses?"

"Symbolize death and rebirth," said Stiles. "Can't be too careful. Gotta get it right."

"And the tablecloth?"

"Aren't we going to use a table?"

Scott shook his head. "No, let's do it on the ground, at the site of the crash."

Stiles didn't object and tossed Scott the pen. Scott marked it out. "Okay, so, how about we do this at 9? Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that would work," said Stiles. "Except how on Earth are we going to convince him to go with us? Not to mention, he has a restraining order against us."

Scott pondered for a moment. "I guess we can always just kidnap him? Again."

Stiles slunk back into his seat. "Great…"

Suddenly, Scott heard Derek's howl again. The howl was fierce, an underlying of annoyance and frustration. Scott stood up. "Listen, Stiles, I have to go."

"Go where? The flower shops are closed."

"Derek," answered Scott. "It's important."

Stiles stood up, screwing his face up. "I still can't believe you joined his pack without telling me."

"I thought it would be for the best," admitted Scott. "And it's only temporarily. I'm going leave once everything gets back to normal."

"Or less crazy."

"Same thing isn't?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, yeah it is. Well, promise me you give me the updates?"

Scott promised and the two exited the McCall's house together with Stiles heading toward his home and Scott, running through the streets and woods, to the secret lair.

_**BREAK**_

"Why does he get the option of not showing up?" Isaac asked, bitterly.

Derek ignored him. "He's coming."

Suddenly, the other three werewolves heard pattering footsteps come down the stairs. Scott appeared before them, but he didn't even take notice of Boyd, Isaac, or Erica. Instead, he looked straight at Derek.

"What was the _big_ emergency?" said Scott. "Could it not wait?"

"Oh, sorry, I guess I didn't know I had to make an appointment with my Beta," said Derek. "When I call you for the first time, that means you come _now_! Not ten minutes later or," Derek checked his watch. "Two hours later."

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I've been a little bit preoccupied with other things than having group meetings in a—," Scott looked around. "What the hell is this place?"

"Doesn't matter," said Derek. "What matters is that as a member of this pack, you can't just go off and do your own thing. You answer to me just like Boyd, Isaac, and Erica do."

Derek swept aside Scott to address the others. "As I told you before, war is coming."

Scott, interested, stood off to the side, leaning against an old metal subway cart. He folded his arms in front of himself, listening intently to Derek.

"Yes, my uncle is back," said Derek, looking over at Scott. "He's going to try to build his own pack."

"Why is that such a bad thing?" questioned Erica. "It would help us defeat the Argents."

Scott growled. Derek glared at him, but Scott didn't care. "It's a bad thing because Peter will try to use his pack to eliminate _you_," he said, his words dripping with venom. "You either join him or die."

"But, it's not that simple either," continued Derek. "You might think it would be better to join his pack than die. Trust me. If you join him, you'll have no control. If you don't like what he wants you to do, that's too bad. He will force you to do it. You are at his utmost command."

Erica, Isaac, and Boyd all took quick looks between themselves, shifting uncomfortably. Derek, however, took no notice.

"He'll force you to shift into a werewolf when he wants to. He'll force you to kill," said Derek. "Even the ones you care about the most. Isn't that right, Scott?"

Scott looked up to see every pair of eyes at him. Scott nodded as a faint memory of the gymnasium where he cried out in pain as he tried to fight off the Alpha's order to kill his friends.

'Scott?" said Derek.

Scott nodded. "Right. And, if you refuse to do it, he'll kill you."

Boyd raised his hand. "So, we just need to kill Peter Hale? Well, five against one, I'm sure we can kill him before he even tries to do anything."

"It's not easy to kill him," said Derek. "Scott and I have already tried. Plus, you guys are still pups. He's been a werewolf all his life. He can take all three of you out in a single throw."

"So, what do we do if he approaches us?"

"You fight back," answered Scott, beating Derek. "It's either die or be enslaved forever."

"Scott's right," concluded Derek. "That's why we are going to be training extra hard. Starting now."

The three werewolves moved to get into position for their training session. Erica stretched while Isaac kept crackling his knuckles (or was it his claws?). Boyd stood off to the side, seemingly examining every bit of the room. Only Scott didn't move to join them.

"Come on, Scoot," said Derek. "You could use a bit more practice. You're getting a bit rusty."

Scott walked over, but not to join with the others. He was heading to the stairs again that led him down to the lair.

Derek was annoyed. "Scott! Where're you going? I'm going to need help on training these guys to survive."

Scott turned, standing underneath the archway. "I've got other things to do that are a bit higher on the priority list than teaching them how to survive."

"Like what?"

"Like Jackson!" said Scott, exasperatedly.

Derek approached Scott, his shoulder brooding and his blue eyes turned brighter. "What? You can't save him. You can't kill him. You don't know who the master is—."

"Yes I do!"

Derek's eyes widened. "You do? Who?"

Scott shook his head. "I-I can't tell you.

Derek growled, viciously and darkly. "Why not?"

"Because you'll kill him!"

Everyone was now looking between Scott and Derek. A Beta and its Alpha.

Scott's heart thumped madly, causing him slight chest pains "Besides, Stiles and I—."

Derek let out an amused chuckle. "Stiles? Really? What? You two came up with some genius plot to save Jackson and the master. Well, let me tell you how it ends. It all fails."

"Like yours are any better," said Scott. "Ours worth a shot of saving Jackson."

"It could also kill you! Including that bumbling Stiles."

"I'll be okay," insured Scott, "and I can protect Stiles."

"Yeah, because you were doing a swell job last night when Peter Hale came knocking at your door."

"We were," countered Scott. "And it's not like it wasn't our first time going against Peter alone. In fact, I did that nearly all last semester!"

"Well, back then, he didn't want to tear your throat out," argued Derek, the words seething from his gritted teeth, causing the younger pups to flinch. "Remember? He wanted you in his pack. It's different this time."

"Seems all the same to me," said Scott.

"He wants you dead!"

"If he wanted me dead, I would be dead by now," said Scott. "But, I'm not. He's not going to kill me."

Derek folded his arms across his heart. "And how do you know that?"

"Because he told me that night he came to my house!" roared Scott. "He said he would never kill me."

Derek took a long pause. His blue eyes reeled back and he measured Scott with a curious expression. He tilted his head slightly as if he was in deep thought. Then, Scott saw it. Derek's expression changed from mild curiosity to shock and fear. The muscles in his arms stiffened and tensed up as every second went by. Scott listened to the now rapid heart rate of Derek Hale.

And the light bulb turned brighter.

Scott gaped at him and murmured. "You know."


	5. Chapter 5: Abandon

**Chapter 5: Abandon**

The atmosphere in the secret lair grew tense. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac anxiously glanced between their Alpha and the spoiled Beta. They watched as Derek stepped back from Scott with a mixture of shock and acceptance. Then, they witnessed Scott's furrowed eyebrows drop down in surprise.

"You knew," muttered Scott.

Derek lifted his head back up. "Scott—."

Scott shook his head and backed away from the others. "Don't…don't talk to me."

Scott ran off, leaving Boyd, Erica, and Isaac to figure out what occurred between the two werewolves. Derek glared over at the other pack members. "Stay here," he ordered. "Boyd, you lead the session until I get back."

"Where you going?" asked Isaac.

But, Derek didn't answer and he went after Scott. Boyd turned to the other werewolves, informing them they were going to start with a sneak attack. However, Erica and Isaac were more interested in what just happened.

"Why does Derek even care about Scott?" said Isaac out loud. "Scott doesn't give a shit about him or us. Why should we even keep him in the pack?"

"Don't worry about it Isaac," grunted Boyd. "If Derek says we need Scott, then we need him. Focus on your approach. Leave Scott to Derek."

Erica and Isaac looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Isaac detested the fact that Derek only cared about Scott compared to either Boyd, Erica, and himself who have remained loyal to Derek.

Isaac crouched down; his concentration now on proving Derek that he's the better werewolf than Scott.

_**BREAK**_

Scott marched through the wood, his heart thumping uncontrollably and his skin prickling as fury swept through his bloodstream.

"Scott! Wait!"

"Stay away from me," barked Scott. "I'm leaving your pack."

Scott could hear Derek's heavy footsteps from behind, the leaves wrestling and wrinkling underneath Derek's heavy boot. "Scott," spoke Derek, calmly. "I can explain."

"No need," snapped Scott. "I think I got the picture."

"Scott—."

Scott halted and spun around, facing Derek. "Is that all I am to everyone? Just some sort of power tool?"

Derek stood only a few feet away from Scott, his shoulders sagging forward. "No. Of course not."

Scott's face contorted with rage. "You know, I can now see the family resemblance between you and Peter."

Derek's eyes glowed and before Scott could prepare himself, he flew into the air and landed on his back. He landed with a big thump, branches crackling and snapping underneath him as his nerves sprained along his spinal cord.

Gasping for air, Scott looked up to see Derek standing over him. "Don't ever compare _me_ to _him_. I would never kill for power."

"I don't believe you," retorted Scott. "Remember? Everyone wants power. That's what you told me."

Derek stared down at Scott, his glowing eyes dimmed back down to normal. Derek backed away and Scott picked himself up, brushing the dead leaves off the sleeves of his shirt.

"You're not wrong Scott," said Derek. "I did say that, and, yes, I've been trying to make my pack stronger and having you improved it."

Scott glared at his former Alpha. "How long have you known?"

Derek sighed. "Since February."

"That's why you kept asking me to join your pack, uh?"

"Yes and no," answered Derek. "Yes to wanting you to join the pack to make us stronger. No, because I wanted you in the pack to protect you. A lone wolf can't live long on it's own. You witnessed that in the woods. Remember? Gerald killing an innocent Omega."

Scott snorted. "Yeah, sure, you wanted to protect me. Expect you still tried to kill me and my friends!"

"I did what I needed to do," snarled Derek.

"And that involved trying to kill Lydia, Jackson, Allison, and Stiles."

"I don't need to try to kill Stiles," said Derek. "He can do that on his own."

"You see," said Scott. "You don't care! Are all werewolves like this? Uncaring and power hungry?"

"No, like I said, I was only doing what I thought was best."

"And that even meant using me for an power upgrade?"

Derek broke a tree limb in half with his hands. "When I found out, I wanted to tell you. But, I was told to keep quiet. That it would be best if you never knew."

"Told to keep quiet?" said Scott. "Who told you that?"

"Your boss," answered Derek. "Dr. Deaton."

Scott's mouth fell open. "What?"

"Ever since I met you in the woods when you were looking for your inhaler, there was something different about you," continued Derek. "I first thought it was because of the transition from human to werewolf. My suspicions only grew in time and I finally really believed of your heritage in February. I sought out your boss and he told me."

"Wait—," Scott said. "Dr. Deaton told you about me?"

"He thought if I knew the whole situation…"

"Situation?"

Derek glanced around the forest. Scott looked around as well, wondering what Derek was searching for.

"What's going on Derek," said Scott. "And don't tell me it's nothing. I want to know the truth. What the hell is going on?"

Derek rested his eyes on Scott. "It can't tell you everything because I don't know everything."

"Then tell me everything you know."

Derek closed in some of the gap between him and Scott. "Since Peter's attacks last year, the news of these rare animal attacks has caught not only hunters' attention."

Scott raised his eyebrows. "So, someone—something—is coming here? To Beacon Hills?"

Derek gravely nodded. "Your family is coming to town Scott," he said. "And they're not here to play nice."

_**BREAK**_

Allison scrolled down through Scott's text messages.

They were all asking where she was and if everything was all right.

Nothing was right.

Her mother is dead. Her life cut short by a bite and a sharp knife. Allison remembered her mother wanting to talk to her and how she easily blew her off. She wished time could go back so she could hear her mother's voice again.

The sky darkened and all she could hear was her father and grandfather speaking downstairs. Allison could distinctively tell which voice belonged to her. She thought about her mother, then panicked. She could picture her mother's dark red hair and piercing eyes, but her voice was gone. Allison couldn't remember what her own mother sounded. It's been only eighteen hours since she last spoke to her mother.

Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks again. Tissues were waded into small balls that surrounded her bed. She wanted Scott to be here. To hold her in his arms as she fell into misery. Yet, she couldn't call Scott. He was a werewolf and she wasn't supposed to be seeing him as she promised her family. Plus, if Scott showed up, she feared her father would kill him on sight. So, she didn't answer to Scott's messages or phone calls. It was for his own protection.

A knock interrupted her thoughts and saw her Dad standing by the door. "Hey, we need to talk."

Chris Argent walked further into his daughter's bedroom and sat down next to her. He pushed a few of the used tissues away from him. "Allison, your mom—."

"Dad, I don't want to talk about this."

"We have to," said Chris. "We have to discuss the situation."

"Mom killed herself," snapped Allison. "Killed herself for no apparent reason."

"She had a reason."

Allison snorted, angrily. "There's no reason for one to take their own life."

"Not even when one is becoming a werewolf."

Allison's heart stopped. 'What?"

Chris positioned himself so that he was facing Allison straight on. He looked into his daughter's eyes, her swollen, red eyes. "Your mother was bitten," he said, "by Derek Hale."

Allison paused, digesting the news. Then, she started shaking her head. "No—No, that can't be…I thought Derek—. Why would he…"

"Because it's in their nature."

A ball of fury arose inside of Allison. She could feel her body heat up as she thought of Derek attacking her mother, biting her, and forcing her to take her own life. But, then, she remembered Scott. Scott, her secret boyfriend, was forced into a werewolf. Scott, who, despite detesting his new animal nature, continued living as a werewolf and helping the people of Beacon Hills stay alive. Her mother could have joined forces with Scott. They could have been the good werewolves that sought to save lives rather than take them.

"Why did Mom kill herself?" asked Allison. "Was the bite killing her?"

"The bite was turning her into a werewolf, Allison."

"But, that didn't mean she needed to die," stated Allison. "Scott—."

Chris Argent threw a sharp look in his daughter's direction. "Your mother didn't want to become a monster, Allison. She knew of the consequences and didn't want that for her friends and family. She killed herself to protect us."

Allison pushed a strand of her wavy hair behind her ear. "She didn't have to die," she murmured. 'We could have helped her through it. Scott, he would have helped her through it."

Chris Argent shook his head. "Your mother would rather be dead than turn into a killer monster," Chris stood up off Allison's bed. "Not everyone has good self-control like Scott. Most werewolves will kill. Even Scott will kill someone one day. Your mother didn't want to risk it. She didn't want to risk our lives. Please understand that Allison."

Allison nodded that she understood, but her anger still seethed inside. She was mad at her mother for taking the easy way out. But, more importantly, she was furious, vengeful, at Derek Hale.

It was his fault her mother was dead. If he didn't bite her, she would be ordering Allison to come down the stairs for dinner. She would be talking to her husband and father-in-law about how to handle the Kanima. She would drill Allison about Scott. But, she would never do those things anymore because Derek Hale stole them from her.

Derek Hale stole Allison's mother away from her.

And all Allison wanted to do was kill him.


	6. Chapter 6: Agenda

**Chapter 6: Agenda**

Scott arrived to an empty house. He plopped onto his bed, closing his eyes. He had never felt so stressed out since his first night of the full moon or so scared in his life. What did Derek mean his family was coming to town and they weren't here to play nice?

Scott remembered his father and his father's temper. His father's status as an Original, however, seemed to do a lot of the explaining for his father's violent behavior. Not that his father ever hit him or his mother like Isaac's father, but it would scare Scott as a child. He would run and hide in his bedroom or run all the way to Stiles's house.

He imagined his father coming back home and his reaction to seeing that his son was a now a werewolf…or, at least, half of one. Would his father reject him? Would Scott be forced to join the Originals? So many more questions popped into his head as the night ticked on.

Scott threw a pillow over his head. "This sucks."

_**BREAK**_

Stiles picked Scott up the next morning.

He honked his horn twice and Scott came strutting out of the door, his eyes unfocused. Scott opened the passenger door and took his seat.

Stiles hit the accelerator. "Okay, so, I was thinking, maybe we could possibly lure Jackson to the place, you know? I thought we could spread some rumors that his parents' ghost haunt the area or something like that…are you even listening?"

"Uh?" said Scott. "No, I heard you. Rumors. Haunting."

Stiles turned the corner. "Okay, what happened with Derek?"

"He knew."

Stiles slammed on the brakes. "He _knew_! Like, he knew that you're an Original?"

"Yes," Scott looked in the review mirror. "I think you're holding up traffic."

Stiles waved his hand outside his jeep. "They can go around," he muttered as the person passing him gave him the finger. "Fuck you too! Okay, so he knew. Why didn't he tell you?"

"Because he made a promise to my boss that he wouldn't say anything."

"Wait, Dr. Deaton told Derek before he told you?"

Scott nodded.

Stiles stared straight ahead with a surprised expression. "Why is everything so fucked up?"

Scott shrugged. "You got me. I don't know. Not only that, but they're coming."

Scott furrowed his brows. "Who's coming?"

"My family," answered Scott. "Derek said they are heading this way."

Stiles thought for a moment. "How does Derek know that?"

"Connection from New York maybe," suggested Scott. "I don't know. I didn't really ask for a background check."

"Okay, okay," said Stiles. "So, your dad is coming back to Beacon Hills. What's the big deal?"

"Derek said they aren't here for pleasantries."

"Really?" said Stiles as another car honked at them. Stiles waved his hand again. "Well, no surprise there. But, why are they coming?"

"To fix the problem."

"Problem? What problem?"

"Really?" shouted Scott. "You don't know the problem? How about there's a Kanima running around killing people, werewolves that are somewhat out of control, and hunters that are just butchering innocents left and right."

Stiles made a large o-shape with his mouth. "Oh…_that_ problem. What do you mean by fixing?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know, but from the way Derek said it, it doesn't sound good."

Stiles slumped in his seat, pausing for a moment. "Great. Just another thing to add to the list."

"Of awesomeness and crazies?"

"No," said Stiles pushing on the accelerator to move the jeep toward school. "Of things to prevent."

They duo arrived at school in time before Mr. Harris could give them a tardy for being late. They took the lab table in the back so that they could discuss more about the latest news.

Allison sat with Lydia near the front and Jackson with Danny on the other side of the girls. Mr. Harris assigned them a lab experiment, but Stiles and Scott were too focused on the upcoming drama.

"Maybe, Scott, if you could possibly talk to your dad…"

"How am I going to do that?"

"Don't you have his number or something?"

"No."

"No?"

"My mom and I didn't remain in contact with Dad since the divorce," said Scott. "It's not like he was father/husband of the year."

Stiles nodded. "Right, so, we can't call and ask to hold off visiting."

"Even if we did," whispered Scott as Mr. Harris edged closer to their lab table. Stiles quickly grabbed the measuring glass. "He wouldn't listen. He never listened to me. Plus, if I told him not to come, he would wondered how I knew they were coming and that would make them want to come more."

"Jesus," muttered Stiles then he slapped Scott's hand. "Don't mix those two things together! Wanna blow us up?"

Scott pushed the chemicals to Stiles, who knew what he was doing. Stiles started measuring and pouring the chemicals into the container. He peered over the books, reading intensely. Scott wondered why he was concentrating so hard.

"Mr. McCall?"

Scott looked up to see Mr. Harris looming over him.

"Just because you're co-captain of the lacrosse team doesn't mean you don't need to do the work."

"Sorry," said Scott and he helped Stiles.

Once Mr. Harris walked down the other way, Scott turned back to Stiles. "So, what's the plan now?"

"Well, we will need to add some sodium—."

"I meant the other things."

"Oh," Stiles pondered. "Keep with the original plan. I already told spread the rumor through Facebook and Twitter."

"What rumor?"

"That Jackson's parents are ghost haunting the crash site," said Stiles. "If it works, Jackson will come and we can convince him to do the séance with us."

Scott tapped his pencil onto the desk. "I still think it's a little far out there. This séance."

"You thought werewolves were far out too."

"Fair point," said Scott. "Okay, so, when are we going to do this?"

"Nine tonight," answered Stiles. "You'll be there, right?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. Do we still need the stuff?"

"Uh, yeah," said Stiles. "Or it's not a séance."

"Okay, I'll pick the candles and flowers—."

"Mr. McCall!"

Scott jumped at the sound of his name. He jerked up to see Mr. Harris standing next to his chair. Scott gulped.

"Yes, sir?"

"Why don't you focus on your chemistry project," said Mr. Harris, "rather than planning how you are going to seduce a woman."

Scott's heart rate picked up and his face flushed crimson. Scott buried himself in his textbook as his classmates chuckled. Allison stared sympathetically at him, while Erica grinned devilishly before looking over at Allison. Then, she glared.

Only Mr. Harris was no amused. "Get back to work everyone. Including you McCall. Your grades speak very much about your capability."

Scott wrinkled his nose in disgust as Mr. Harris walked away. Stiles leaned over. "Jez, why did assume the flowers and candles were for a date?"

_**BREAK**_

Scott pedaled as fast as he could to work. When he parked his bike and locked it, he hurried through the door, greeted by his boss.

"Good afternoon Scott," he answered, examining a dog's urine sample. "How was school?"

"You told Derek."

Dr. Deaton put down the urine sample and looked over at Scott. "I did, yes."

"But you didn't tell me?" said Scott. "You told a man who can't be trusted…"

"Derek Hale is a trustable guy," said Dr. Deaton. "He just has trust issues since so many people have betrayed him."

Scott further entered the room. "You mean Kate and Peter?"

"A lover and a family member," said Dr. Deaton. "Tell me, Scott, how trustable would you be if you found out that Allison killed your family and that your mother tried to kill you?"

Scott didn't want to imagine, but he understood. "I get it," said Scott. "You can't really trust anyone after that."

"Exactly," said Dr. Deaton.

"But, why do you trust him?" asked Scott. "Why did you trust him with my heritage, but not with me?"

"Because, Scott, I was afraid you knowing could put yourself in jeopardy."

"Like what kind of jeopardy? The hunters? They already want me dead."

"They are a part of it, yes," said Dr. Deaton. "But I meant jeopardy on your well-being."

"My well-being?"

"The less people that know who you are," said Dr. Deaton. "The better. Like I mentioned before, if people learn that you are a descendent of the Originals, they will use you for their own agenda."

"Like Peter and Derek."

"Peter—yes," answered Dr. Deaton. "Derek, not so much. He wanted you to help strengthen his pack, but deep down, and Scott, I think you know this to be true, I think he cares about you."

"Cares about me?" Scott said, disbelieving and accusation lacing his words. "He cares only about himself. If he cared about me, he would have allowed me to kill Peter to get back my humanity."

"Scott, even if you did—."

"I know! It wouldn't work because of my Original status, but he didn't know that and I didn't know either."

Dr. Deaton shrugged and went back to the urine sample. "All I'm saying is that you both need to start trusting each other."

Scott grabbed his list of assignments. "I'll start trusting him when he earns it."

Dr. Deaton sighed. "Maybe he's thinking the same thing."

_**BREAK**_

After work, Scott pedaled as fast as he could to the nearest grocery store, purchasing the necessary equipment for the séance. With the bag of goods hanging from his handlebars, Scott rode to the site of the supposed crash that killed Jackson's parents.

Stiles waited for him, standing near a big oak tree. Scott rode his bike up to him, stopping just a few feet

"Did you get everything?"

Scott nodded and pulled the bag off the handlebars. "Yep. Got it. Are you sure Jackson's gonna come?"

Stiles nodded. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure. Unless his master makes him kill another person."

"That's not comforting Stiles."

"If Jackson's unresolved issue is about his parents," said Stiles. "He—not the kanima—will come here to see if it's true."

"How do you know though?"

"Because if someone told me my mom wondered the hospital hallways as a ghost," said Stiles. "I would come running just so that I could see her again."

Stiles took the bag from Scott and started removing the candles from their clear wrappings. Scott watched his friend struggle, but he could feel that the struggle wasn't with the candles. It was about his mother.

"Stiles?"

"Yep?"

"You okay?"

Stiles looked up. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I just...thinking about my mom. I'm okay though."

Scott knew Stiles wasn't entirely all right as his heartbeat feathered slightly at the word "mom." Mrs. Stilinski was a nice and caring mother. She had a humorous side that Stiles seemed to have inherited along with his dark hair and eyes. Yet, Stiles still acted more like his father. His eager to protect others and solve things was so ingrained into him that some believed Stiles is a clone of Sheriff Stiles.

Scott went over to Stiles and helped him unwrap the rest of the candles. "Thanks."

Stiles looked up. "For what?"

"For sticking with me after everything."

Stiles smirked. "Are you feeling guilty?"

"No, I'm just being honest. Thank you."

Stiles nodded, accepting the answer. "Yeah, okay. No problem. Besides, I'm quite enjoying these adventures. And to think I thought our elementary school days were the best days of our lives."

Scott laughed and, together, they began setting the candles up and placing the white and red roses inside the circled candles. The night chilled their skin, causing the hairs to prick up. Scott sniffed the air, checking to make sure they were alone. He smelled no one.

Once finished Stiles and Scott looked down the road. "Now…we wait for Jackson," said Stiles as he sat down on the grass by the road.

Scott looked down the road. Despite not being able to smell anyone, his nerves told him something was not right. Like someone was watching them. Scott switched to his wolf eyes, the yellow glowing from his brown eyes. He scanned the woods, but saw nothing. Paranoia was settling in.

Stiles slapped Scott's back. "What are you doing?"

"I-it feels like someone's watching us."

Stiles jumped to his feet, searching the woods. "Do you see anyone?"

Scott shook his head.

"Smell anyone?"

Again, Scott shook his head.

"Well, then, no one is here right?" asked Stiles.

"Maybe, but I still feel like someone is watching."

Suddenly, bright lights came roaring down the road. Stiles and Scott jumped back and Scott immediately knew who was driving in their direction.

Jackson Whittemore had finally arrived.


	7. Chapter 7: Atonement

**Chapter 7: Atonement**

The Whittemore porsche parked off the side of the road. Jackson jumped out and slammed the doors, locking his vehicle. He glanced around, nervously twitching as he walked over toward the sight of his parents' deaths.

Stiles nudged Scott to follow. They trudged gently on the rickety grass. Leaves crinkled underneath their weight as they maneuvered their way to the séance set up.

However, Stiles nose wrinkled and before Scott could realize what was happening, Stiles sneezed.

Jackson snapped his attention to their location. "Who's there?"

Stiles and Scott glanced at each other before unveiling themselves to Jackson. "It's just us," said Stiles, waving his hands frantically.

"What are you two idiots doing here?" demanded Jackson, marching over to the two friends.

"Well, we were kind of interested in seeing if this ghost stuff was true," said Stiles, nervously looking over at Scott. "You know? With werewolves being true and kanimas, maybe ghosts are too."

Jackson frowned. "Why do you care about ghosts?"

Scott wasn't surprised by Jackson's ignorance. Everyone in town knew Stiles lost his mother at a young age. But, Jackson, so self-absorbed never took notice.

Stiles, luckily, brushed the insult off his shoulder. "Well, if ghosts exist, it would just be another awesomeness to add to the, um, list."

"List?"

"Of craziness," answered Stiles. "It doesn't really matter. So, what are you doing here."

Jackson glared.

"Right," said Stiles. "Never mind."

Scott took over. "So, do you, uh, want company?"

Jackson pulled his jacket tighter around him as a cool breeze picked up, rattling the limbs above them.

"Uh, sure," said Jackson.

Stiles and Scott led the way to their séance area, which promptly had Jackson regretting his decision on joining them.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's a séance circle," said Stiles, looking around at the candles and rose petals. "Right?"

Jackson stared questionably at Scott and Stiles. "What? Now you guys are witches?"

Stiles rolled his eyes at Jackson. "What? You didn't get the newsletter? Yeah, Scott and I are now devoted to wicca and practice magic. If you see a broomstick flying around in the forest, don't worry. Someone just fell off while playing Quidditich."

Jackson was not amused and to ensure the kanima didn't override Jackson, Scott cut in. "Well, we thought that it might be better to communicate with the, uh, the ghost if we did some sort of séance."

Jackson arched his brows at Scott. "And you're interested in talking to my parents?"

"Well, it's more like a practice run," said Stiles and both Scott and Jackson turned around to look at Stiles. He was sitting on the ground, lighting a match. "If we can communicate with your parents, then I might be able to communicate with my mom."

Scott and Jackson stared at Stiles silently. Stiles answer shocked Scott. Stiles never talked about his mom very much since her untimely death. In fact, he speaks fondly of her and seems to have nearly forgotten that his mother passed away. Yet, those words that escaped Stiles mouth proved Scott wrong. Stiles missed his mother very much.

It wasn't the words that made Scott realized this truth. It was Stiles's tone. He spoke each word with such hope and fear that Scott felt pity. He wanted the séance to work not only to save Jackson, but to also give Stiles a chance to talk his mother.

Finally, Jackson managed to return first. "Fine, whatever."

Jackson sat down across from Stiles and Scott took the seat between the two. Stiles finished lightening the candles and turned to Scott. "Okay, now you're gonna have to be our medium."

Scott stared puzzlingly at Stiles. "Medium? What?"

"A person who has to conjure the spirits."

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Because you're the only person with a supernatural gift."

"Being a werewolf counts?"

"No," said Stiles, "But, since you had some sort of special telepathy with your Alpha, that makes you the medium."

"Because I use to have telepathy."

"Just do it," said Stiles, handing Scott the printed papers on how to conjure the spirits.

Scott read through the direction and felt his cheeks warm. It seemed stupid to do this, but at the same time, he realized how important it was for both Jackson and Stiles that it worked.

So, Scott took a deep breath. "Okay, we're gonna need to hold hands."

"Really?" said Jackson, eyeing Stiles' hands. "I'm not holding anyone's hands."

"Stop being a wuss and hold out your hand."

Jackson reluctantly let Stiles and Scott hold his hands. Once they were each holding the other's hands, Scott sniffed the wind. He still felt something off. He couldn't get a good sense, but it was enough to make his wolf instincts come alarm.

"Scott?"

Scott came back to the group. "Yeah?"

"Huh, you wanna start the whole chanting thing?" said Stiles.

Scott nodded. "Yeah, right, um, okay," he said. "We need to think of a person first." Scott looked over at Jackson. "It would probably be best if we think of your parents since this is where—."

"Yeah, sure," cut Jackson. "Let's just get this over with."

"All right," said Scott, glancing down at the instruction sheet. "Okay, everyone close your eyes."

The three boys closed their eyes and Scott could hear the wind tussling in the background, the leaves crinkling, and the fire flickering and crackling at the tip. With a deep breath, Scott began.

"Beloved parents of Jackson," he started and he felt Jackson's hand tightened his grip, "Commune with us. Move among us."

Nothing happened. Scott opened one eye and read the paper again. It informed him to keep repeating the lines.

"Beloved parents of Jackson," he repeated again. "Commune with us. Move among us. Conjure before us."

He didn't know why he added that part, but he had seen it in the movies before. He repeated the line again. Nothing happened. No spirit or howling of the dead entered their area, frightening them. Scott felt Stiles's grip loosen and Jackson's as well. Scott tried it once more.

"Beloved parents of Jackson," he started. "If you can hear us. Please, come. Your son, he wishes to speak to you. Please move among us. Speak to us."

Stiles lifted on his eyelids up. "I don't think that's the line," he muttered so only Scott could hear.

Scott frowned and nearly broke the circle as he pulled his hands out of Stiles and Jackson's grasps when he felt a blunt object slam into his head. Scott toppled over and Stiles gasped.

Scott, dazed, rolled over on his back to see Matt standing over him, the end of a gun's barrel near his face.

_**BREAK**_

Derek returned to his empty lair. He was thankful that his new werewolves were better than they were once before. Sadly, however, none of them were as good as he wanted them to be. Scott, a young werewolf, fought off an Alpha when he was around their werewolf age. Derek doubted that either of the three could managed to do that, even with them together.

Derek slumped down onto one of the boxes, rubbing his head as he tried to think of what to do. Yes, he heard the news of the Originals coming over to fix the problem in Beacon Hills, but he also wondered if there was another motive.

The Originals never come without a real excuse and the mysterious animal killings wouldn't be high on their priority list. In fact, Derek began to question if their real reason to coming to Beacon Hills had anything to do with Scott.

"Hello Derek."

Derek jumped up, ready to fight when he realized it was only the vet. "How did you know where I was?"

Dr. Deaton strolled over, pulled one of the boxes over to sit down. "I'm a vet," he said. "I know a lot about animals and how to track them."

Derek stared questionably. "That's more of a hunter."

Dr. Deaton didn't shrugged. "Perhaps."

Derek leaned back, putting back his emotional armor as he gave an intimidating glared at the vet. "Why are you here? I didn't say anything to McCall."

"I know," said Dr. Deaton. "Scott told me that you knew about the Originals."

"You told him first."

"I know," he said. "I just came by to thank you for not telling him about the other thing."

"You mean the fact that his father is coming to town? Well, it's too late," said Derek. "I told him about that too."

"Yes, I know," repeated Dr. Deaton. "I meant the other thing."

Derek paused for several moments. "What was I going to tell him? The full truth? He would be scared shitless."

Dr. Deaton shook his head. "Maybe at the beginning, but he's strong."

"Tell me about it," muttered Derek. "So, what do you want me to do?"

The lightening in the lair shined the baldhead of Dr. Deaton, as the town's vet stood up, becoming eye level with Derek Hale. Dr. Deaton's friendly expression died into a serious one as he looked straight into Derek's blue eyes. "When they come," he said, "you will need to ensure they don't find Scott."

"How? Lock him up?"

Dr. Deaton did not smile. "Sometimes the best way to protect the ones we love," he said, walking toward the exit, "is to simply let them go."


	8. Chapter 8: Avert

**Chapter 8: Avert**

"Scott!"

Stiles charged at Matt. The photographer didn't have the chance to swing his gun at Stiles before Stiles rammed into Matt's shoulder, shoving him down onto the ground. The force brought Stiles down as well, toppling on top of Matt. They rolled down the small ditch, colliding into a tree.

Scott jumped down to help Stiles. Matt cursed and swung the gun around, but Scott kicked Matt's arm. The gun fell from Matt's hand and Scott lunged for the gun. However, Matt saw the movement and, using his empty hand, punched Scott in the face. Scott backtracked. The blow stung his face, but his wolf powers healed the puncture.

Scott heard Stiles yelp as Matt managed to kick Stiles off of him. Matt found the gun and, raising it above his arm, plummeted the bunt of the gun onto Stiles's head. Stiles fell in a heap, unresponsive.

"Stiles!" cried Scott as he ran over to Stiles.

He flipped Stiles over and examined Stiles's head. The force causing Stiles's skin to break and blood slid down the side of his face from the wound. Stiles's eyes were closed. Scott listened and could hear Stiles's heart give a steady beat.

Stiles's alive.

Scott turned to face Matt, who had the gun aimed directly at Scott's heart.

Scott raised his hands. "Matt…you don't have to do this."

Matt gave a dark chuckle. "Really? I don't have to do this. You're right. I don't have to do this. _I _want to do this."

Scott heard Matt's heartbeat pick up speed. It wasn't nerves. It was excitement. Power feeding him into things normal humans would never do. Crazy and unnatural flint in Matt's eyes told everything. Matt was going to kill Scott.

"Why?" asked Scott, in hopes to by some time to work out a plan, "Why did you kill all those people? Did the swim team do something to you?"

Matt shoved the gun forward, but Scott didn't move away. "They killed me," said Matt. "They—I couldn't swim. And they threw me into that pool. All of them, wasted, drunk, just threw me in."

"I was drowning," continued Matt, "and they just laughed. Then, I died. There was no light. Just laughter and people having sex. I dead and no one cared."

"But, you're alive," said Scott.

"No shit Sherlock," said Matt. "The next moment, I woke up with Mr. Lahey over me. He mocked me for not knowing how to swim and threatening me not to tell anyone what happened here. I never did."

"So, you just decided to seek revenge on them?"

"They deserve death," said Matt. "They—they deserve to know how it feels to be helpless, scared, and then die, with no one caring about it."

"What about Stiles and I?" questioned Scott. "Jackson? What are you going to do with us? Kill us?"

Matt shrugged half-heartily. "Stiles, I could care less. Though, he does get annoying. I might just kill him. It'll make a lot of people happy."

Scott's breath grew ragged as Matt, pointed the gun at his unconscious friend. Scott moved aside, blocking Stiles from the gun's barrel. Matt smirked at Scott protection.

"What?" he said, "You think putting yourself in front means I wouldn't kill him?" Matt cocked the gun. "Because I would simply just put a bullet through you and then into Stiles."

Matt smiled brightly as if a newfound revelation came to him. "With you out of the picture," he said, "I can finally move forward with Allison."

Images of Matt and Allison making out exploded in Scott's head. His heart thumped and his blood boiled. But, with the gun pointing at him, one move would cause Matt to pull the trigger.

"Keep that wolf back, Scotty," taunted Matt. "Or I'll kill shoot Stiles."

It was hard to put the wolf back when all Scott wanted to do was rip out Matt's throat for even thinking of hurting Allison and Stiles. He remained trapped and felt the same feeling Matt must have felt when he was drowning. Helplessness.

Matt leveled the gun at Scott's heart. "Good by, McCall."

Scott McCall stared into the barrel; awaiting a bullet that would pierce his clothes, sink into his flesh, and stop his heart from beating. He would never see Allison again or his mother. His friend, Stiles, will soon follow suit if Matt figured killing Stiles would be better for him. And Jackson will forever be lost to either the kanima or death.

The wind picked up and, for Scott, it felt as if Death was spiriting him away on a chilly chariot. But, as everything slowed in front of him, Scott noticed something strange.

The sound of ripping clothes echoed in Scott's ear and droplets splattered his face. For a second, Scott believed he was dead. He didn't feel any pain. No chills as life drained out of him. He felt simply whole.

He looked back up at Matt. Matt's manic expression disappeared. A look of horror and pain etched his face. His paled skin grew paler and, for Scott, it appeared that Matt looked more dead than Scott felt.

Then, Scott realized something. Matt's lip twitched downwards, his body slightly convulsing. Scott moved his eyes down to Matt's chest and noticed it had a bloody, gaping hole. Not only a hole, but also a fist was protruding from the hole in Matt's chest.

Matt stared down, shock still marked upon his face. The blood soaked fist pulled back and Matt crumpled to the ground dead.

"I hate getting my hands dirty."

Scott slowly lifted his eyes away from Matt's blank face up into a familiar face. The blood in his veins froze as the person leaned down to wipe the blood from their hands off on Matt's shirt.

"But, sometimes, it's necessary to get the job done right."

Peter Hale rose back up, towering over the younger, blood-splattered wolf. His hands, now cleaned from Matt's blood and guts, loomed over Scott and Stiles with a sinister smirk that crinkled his face.

"Don't you agree, Scott?"

Scott tumbled backwards as he jumped to his feet. "You," he said, pointing his finger at the former Alpha. "Stay away from me."

Peter raised a questionable eyebrow. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You're telling me to stay away after I just saved your life. What? No thank you?"

"Stay back!"

Peter snickered at Scott's futile attempts. "Really? What are you going to do?"

"I'm not as weak as I used to be," said Scott, situating himself into a defense position.

Peter paused for a moment. He studied the young werewolf in front of him. Scott tried to figure which move the former Alpha would make. But, to Scott's surprise, Peter's mouth formed an acknowledgeable smile.

"So, the good doctor told you," said Peter taking a small step forward. "Well, from what I've seen lately, no one would even believe that you're a descendent."

"Doesn't mean I'm not one," argued Scott.

"True," agreed Peter. "Very true. But, I must say, for one of your heritage, you should at least be able to defeat a human teenage boy." Peter lightly kicked Matt's body.

"He had a gun."

"That didn't contain any wolfsbane in the bullets," added Peter. "Which means it wouldn't have killed you." Peter then eyed Stiles on the ground. "Well, maybe it would have killed him."

Scott claws grew out. "Leave him alone."

Peter let out an amusing chuckle. "If I wanted to kill Stiles, I would have done it in the parking garage months ago."

Scott remembered Stiles telling him of the encounter with Peter. How the Alpha had forced him to find Derek by threatening to kill Lydia. Scott didn't blame him. He knew how infatuated Stiles was with Lydia and Scott figured he would have done the same if it were Allison.

Peter fixed his leather jacket. "I hate this new one," he said, trying to straighten it on his shoulders. "I preferred my old one, but thanks to you and your human friends, it burned to dust."

A nerving question popped into Scott's mind. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?'

"Come back to life," said Scott. "You were dead. I saw Derek kill you."

Peter grinned. "Yes, well, when Plan A doesn't work out," he said. "You go to Plan B."

"Plan B?"

"Yes," said Peter, annoyance edging his tone. "I had help of course. Derek, especially. He was very helpful in my resurrection. I should really send him a gift basket."

The statement of Derek's help was like drinking a bottle hot sauce. His heart fluttered and fainted, causing Scott to wobble a little on his feet. How could Derek do this? How could he…he helped resurrect Peter!

Anger flowed back through his veins, but the feeling of betrayal made his stomach quench. He wanted to lay down and rest his head. But, he couldn't. Not with Peter Hale nearby, threatening him and Stiles. Yet, he couldn't call out to Derek either. Derek, the traitor.

The vet was wrong! Derek didn't give a rat's ass about him. If Derek did, he wouldn't have stolen Scott's chance at becoming human. He wouldn't have beaten and scarred him on the ice rink. He wouldn't have threatened to kill Lydia or Jackson or Allison or Stiles. And, he wouldn't have resurrected the man that brought the werewolf curse onto Scott.

Derek didn't give a shit about anyone except for himself.

As Scott's emotions began to weave and bury him, Peter watched. "Yeah, I know," he said. "Must be hard. To be betrayed."

Scott shot a cold look at Peter, but the former Alpha continued talking. "I should know," he said. "I too was betrayed by my own pack."

"But," added Peter. "I'm willing to forgive."

"I'm not asking for forgiveness," growled Scott.

"Oh, trust me," said Peter. "You will. Eventually."

"I doubt it."

Peter stared at Scott, a look of admiration on his face. "Well, Scott, I think it's time I head off." Peter began to move up out of the ditch and forest.

"What?" Scott called after Peter. "You're not going to kill us? Take your revenge against us?"

Peter stopped and stared down at the two boys. "Is there any need for me to do it?"

"We killed you."

"So?"

"I know you…well, I know you enough that you're not the forgiving type."

"Very clever of you," said Peter. "And, yet, you're still failing school."

Scott didn't appreciate the tone. "I don't know what you're planning. I don't know what Plan B is, but, whatever it is, I'm going to stop you. I won't let you hurt anymore people."

Peter stared at Scott for several moments. Scott prepared himself for an attack, but it never came. Peter just gave a small smile.

"Well, Scott, I wouldn't expect any less from you."

Peter finished trudging out of the ditch and Scott could hear Peter's last words. "I'll see you soon."

_**BREAK**_

Scott carried the unconscious Stiles back to his jeep, leaving Matt's body behind. He didn't know exactly what to do with Matt. There was no way Scott could convince the sheriff or the rest of the town that Matt was attacked by an animal. Even he wouldn't believe it even if werewolves and the supernatural didn't exist.

Scott loaded Stiles into the passenger side of the Jeep when he suddenly remembered Jackson. Scott raced back to the séance scene to find that Jackson never moved from his spot. In fact, he seemed frozen.

Scott bent down and lightly tapped Jackson on the shoulder. "Jackson?"

Jackson jerked up and spun around, his face glowing from the fiery candles. He seemed calmed, content, and to Scott observation, he looked blissful. Scott even wondered if he noticed that Matt attacked them.

"Are you okay?" asked Scott.

Jackson nodded, a smile growing on his face. "Yeah, I am," he said as he stood up.

Scott followed suit. "Sorry that this séance thing didn't work out," said Scott. "I guess ghosts is really make believe."

"What are you talking about McCall?"

"The séance," said Scott, pointing down at the candles and rose petals. "It didn't work."

Jackson stared confused. "It worked just fine."

"What?"

Jackson leaned closer to Scott, his eyes hopeful and beaming. "I talked to them," he said, softly. "I got to talk to my parents. My real parents."


	9. Chapter 9: Actif

**Chapter 9: Actif***

When Chris Argent heard of the teenager's death, he began cleaning and loading his guns with wolfsbane bullets. Gerard finished loading his own gun, readying it for the hunt. He looked over at his oldest and only child left.

"So, is Allison—."

"Allison isn't going to do anything yet," said Chris. "She just lost her mother."

"And you lost a wife," said Gerard. "You continue fighting."

"Allison is a child."

"Who has already seen enough to make her old," retorted Gerard.

Chris turned sharply to his father. "Why are you so insistent in getting Allison tangled up in this mess? She's a teenager. She should be going to teenager things rather than start fighting."

"She doesn't have to do the fighting," said Gerard, calmly. "She just has to make the decisions. She's now in charge of leading us."

Chris shook her head. "She doesn't even know how to lead hunters or what type of strategies to use. She doesn't even know the rules."

Gerard shook his head. "Son, there are no more rules between them and us anymore. It's simply an all out war. If Allison is to survive, it's best she starts doing her share now."

Chris placed his gun down and gripped the edges of the table. The funeral for his wife was going to occur Saturday morning. He planned to bury his wife next to his younger sister. It wasn't the fact he feared that Allison couldn't handle it. He was not afraid of that. He knew Allison was strong for her age.

But he still feared of the possibility of her losing her mind, like his sister, or her life through, like her mother. His worst fear, however, is the possibility of losing her to Scott. He feared that she might fall in love with Scott and allow herself to become a werewolf. He feared she might become wild and that he would have to put his daughter down.

That was his worst fear.

Gerard seemed bored waiting for his son to speak. "I think it should be Allison's choice."

Gerard loaded his gun into the car and headed out of the garage. Before he closed the door, he called back to Chris. "Either way, she is going to have to make a choice soon. Better, we help her make the right one."

Gerard then closed the door, leaving Chris with his lonesome thoughts. Unnerved by the prospect of needing to train his daughter to kill and to hide emotions, accepting people as monsters until proven otherwise.

It was like robbing her of a normal life. But, it is there responsibility. Their family's sacrificed their normality so others could live happily and peaceful.

Chris just wished he never came back to Beacon Hills.

_**BREAK**_

Scott called the police as soon as he picked up the séance scene to hide any evidence. Stiles was still knocked out, but the bleeding stopped. When the police arrived, they vigorously questioned Scott what happened to lead to such a murderous event. Scott told the officers that he and Stiles came to the site because of a ghosts' rumor. Then, Matt came waving a gun and threatening to shoot them both. He told them how Matt knocked Stiles unconscious and was prepared to kill Scott when Peter Hale killed Matt.

The officers didn't take him seriously. "Peter Hale is dead, son," said the head officer at the time. "Now, tell me, who did you really see."

"Peter Hale! He killed Matt."

The officer deduced that Scott, after being close to a near death experience and witnessing death had caused too much trauma to the young teenager's head. He insisted Scott go to the hospital in the ambulance. Scott refused. Instead, he took Stiles's jeep and followed the ambulance that carried Stiles to the hospital.

It wouldn't be for another twenty minutes until Scott was allowed in Stiles's hospital room. He walked in and sat down by the door. His friend's head was wrapped in beige bandages, making his injury look worst than it actually was. But, it still didn't make Scott feel any less guilty to what happened in the woods.

When Stiles woke up, he woke up with a major headache.

Scott sat nearby and when Stiles opened his eyes, Scott came rushing to his side. "How you feeling? You okay?"

Stiles blinked rapidly. "W-what the hell happened?"

Scott informed him of Matt's attack and Peter Hale rescuing them. Stiles listened thoroughly with interest. His eyebrows kept twitching and Scott knew it was a sign that Stiles's brain was racing.

After a brief moment of silence between the two friends, Stiles spoke. "So, let me get this straight, Jackson saw his parents…and spoke to them?"

Scott nodded. "Jackson said he did."

"What did they talk about?"

Scott pulled his chair back and sat down. "Jackson didn't really say much," Scott said. "Something like how much they love him and proud of him."

"Really?"

"That's all Jackson said."

Stiles scratched his bandage. "Huh…so you think he's cured?"

"Doesn't really matter if he is or not," said Scott. "The master is dead."

"Wait," said Stiles. "Does the title pass down?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if the Alpha in a pack dies or gets beaten," explained Stiles, "then the next powerful Beta or another gets the Alpha power. Is it the same way for a kanima?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe?" His spine tingled at the thought of Peter Hale being the new master.

Stiles pushed himself up off the hospital cot. "I hate saying—really, I do—but why don't we…I mean, _you,_ ask Derek," he said. "He might know."

Scott's muscles tensed and he felt heat rising inside of him. But, then it died, taken over by a chill that nearly made Scott lose all the breath contained in his lungs. He could feel his fingers curl along the edge of the chair, scratching pieces of splinters off. His brown eyes lowered away from Stiles and to the floor.

Stiles looked over at his friend. "What did I miss?"

Scott didn't remove his gaze from the floor. "We can't talk to Derek."

"Why not?"

Scott lifted his head. "He betrayed us," said Scott. "He helped bring Peter back to life."

This new statement caused Stiles to almost topple out of his hospital cot. "He did _what_?"

Scott explained what Peter told him about Derek. Stiles listened intently. Then, he dropped his head and shook it depressingly. "Just when we were trusting him," said Stiles.

"I know," agreed Scott.

Stiles scratched the back of his head. "So, what's the plan with Jackson?"

"Just watch him, I guess."

Stiles stared dubiously at Scott. "Watch him? That's all? Watch him turn into a murderous machine?"

"Unless the séance worked," said Scott. "Then he wouldn't."

"So, he'll become human?"

"What? No. He would complete his transformation into a wolf instead of a kanima."

"Still a murderous machine," said Stiles and he leaned back against his pillow. "Fine. How are we going to find out what he turns into?"

Scott pondered the situation. "Well, I was going to stake out his house. See if anything happens."

"Like a creeper," said Stiles. "Good. Anymore suggestions?"

"Cause his heart rate to rise and see what happens then."

"Okay, that seems like the better option," said Stiles. "How are you going to do that?"

"Seeing as he doesn't care too much about us," said Scott. "I don't think it will be too hard."

The friends heard voices outside Stiles's hospital door. One of them belonged to Stiles's father.

Scott stood up to leave. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, right?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, but hey, good luck tomorrow and don't…don't set him off too much," he warned. "Don't need a werewolf or kanima going crazy during the middle of school."

Scott promised as the door to the room burst opened. Sheriff Stilenski stood in the archway, looking pale and wild, his eyes widen at the sight of his bandaged son.

"Stiles!" he cried, walking to the cot, not noticing Scott at all. "Are you okay? What the hell were you doing out in those woods?"

Stiles hugged his father and murmured he was fine, but his father kept battering him with questions. Scott snuck out to leave the father and son alone together. He walked down the barren halls of the hospital, his mind buzzing on what needed to be done. So caught up in his thoughts, he didn't realized that he mother was calling for him.

"Scott!" she said, touching his shoulder.

Scott spun around. "Oh, hey, mom."

Mrs. McCall did not seemed pleased. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Nothing," insisted Scott. "We were just goofing around, checking to see if the rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"About the ghosts," said Scott, stuttering a bit under his mother's glare. "Supposedly Jackson's parents haunt the crash site. Stiles and I just wanted to see if it was true."

Mrs. McCall shook her head. "Can't this town leave that poor boy alone," she said, then she focused back on Scott. "No more going into those woods. I mean it. No more!"

Scott nodded his head obediently. "Okay, yes, I promise."

Mrs. McCall seemed relieved, but her suspicious eyes kept alert on Scott's posture, searching for any signs of disobedience. "All right," she said, "Go home and do your homework."

"What about the kid—."

"Go home Scott," she said. "Leave the investigation to the police."

Scott's shoulders hung limply and he turned to exit when his mother called out. "And, stop making up these fantasy stories!"

_**BREAK**_

Derek sat in the middle of his old bedroom at the former Hale Mansion.

He thought about the upcoming events and the vet's advice. He didn't entirely agree with the good vet. He believed Scott wouldn't do well. He even feared Scott might be killed. He noticed how Scott's danced between the lines of life and death and he simply wanted to drag the young pup away from the death line. But, as the vet had told him before, fate had different plans for Scott.

Derek dropped into a push-up position and began doing them continuously. It helped him clear his mind and prepare himself for the storm that's coming.

However, he didn't realize that one was already at his door.

"I see you're still working out."

Derek stopped and jumped up, his claws out and ready to fight when he noticed his uncle leaning against the burned wall.

Peter Hale stared down at nephew's claws with no fear. "You wanna fight now? After doing all those push-ups?"

"What do you want?" growled Derek. "Did you come here to kill me?"

Peter got off the wall and walked further into Derek's old bedroom. "Why do people keep saying that? First Scott, now you. What? Do I look like a terminator?"

Derek huffed, his nose flaring. "I know you."

"And I know you too," replied Peter, stopping a few feet away. With Derek's claws still curled out, Peter sighed and spread his arms wide opened. "I'm not going to kill you. I promise."

Derek studied his uncle for several moments, before sliding his claws back behind his human mask. "Then why are you here?"

"To form an alliance," said Peter. "You, me…Scott."

Derek's eyebrows rose amusedly. "Scott will never join you."

"Still upset that I bit him months ago?" said Peter. "Please, he should be over that by now. He knows of his heritage. It was bound to come out sooner or later."

"Maybe not," said Derek.

Peter stared intensely at his nephew. "The good doctor is making his rounds," he said. "Spilling secrets all over this town."

"I already knew," said Derek. "What he told me only gave me proof."

"And what about the other thing?"

Derek let out a long breath. "Enough to know what I'll need to do."

Peter laughed humorlessly. "And you trust the doctor?"

"He's more trustable than you."

Peter looked rejected as his face fell into a painful expression. "I've never lied to you Derek nor Scott," he said. "I've always been completely honest with you and Scott."

"Then tell me," said Derek, marching forward, closing some of the gap between the family members. "What was your goal after killing everyone in the fire? Huh? Because, I know you didn't need me or Scott to kill off Kate Argent. So, what's your plan, huh? What's your end game?"

Peter's lips emitted a small smile. "My plan? My plan is the same as yours Derek."

Derek was confused. His eyes drooped almost into slits and his eyebrows knitted tightly as he tried to understand what his uncle meant.

"The same?" questioned Derek.

Peter nodded. "Survival."

*Actif is one of the many spellings for "live" in French


	10. Chapter 10: Aspire

**Chapter 10: Aspire**

Next day at school, Scott went down the hallway alone. Sheriff Stilenski thought it was best for Stiles to rest today, leaving Scott to do the task alone. He stalked Jackson, watching the popular jock's behavior. But nothing happened to Jackson. In fact, he seemed more cheerful, lively than the months since school has started. Even the news of Matt's death didn't bother him.

The only person that seemed to drastically change was Allison. Scott heard about her mother's suicide and tried to talk to her. He even tried when she showed up to school yesterday, but she avoided him. Today, she wasn't at school. Probably too depressed.

As Scott headed to his last class for the day, he spied Lydia walking down the hallway. Scott hurried over to her, placing himself in her path. Lydia looked up annoyed and tried to go around him. Scott moved in front of her.

Lydia's eyes went round. "Okay, listen here McCall," she said, sternly. "I don't know anything about anything."

Scott wrinkled his eyebrows and stared confusingly. "What?"

Lydia looked surprised, but it disappeared as soon as it came. "Nothing. What did you say?"

Scott pushed his curiosity back about what she meant and focused back to his original question. "I wanted to ask you about Allison."

"She's fine—okay, well, no, she's not fine," said Lydia. "She's messed up right now. Emotionally and mentally."

"I know—."

"Give her some time to mourn," said Lydia, her gaze threatening. "She doesn't need to be suffocated at the moment."

Lydia walked around a paralyzed Scott, heading straight to her last class. Scott continued on toward his own classroom, but he did it rather slowly that he received a tardy.

As Scott dragged his feet to his seat, he promised himself to visit her as soon as their lacrosse practice was over.

School ended with a bell and Scott soon found himself changing into his lacrosse attire. Grabbing his helmet, he walked out of the locker room and into Jackson.

"Move it," said Jackson.

Scott didn't move. "Hey, Jackson, how you feeling?"

Jackson stared. "Fine. Move."

Scott didn't move. "Listen, I just need to talk to you about something…uh, like, do you feel any different today?"

Again, Jackson just stared. "Really, McCall?"

Scott nodded.

Jackson pushed Scott out of his way. "I'm fine."

Scott hit the wall, but didn't fight back against Jackson. With a smirk on his face, Jackson walked pass Scott. Scott stayed where he was, thinking of another way to test Jackson. As Scott exited out of the locker room, a new plan developed and he prayed that it wouldn't backfire.

The once abandoned field became fully active when four o'clock rolled around. Boys dressed in red uniform gear marched upon the field, their shoes spiking the ground and kicking up patches of the land in the air.

Scott kneeled down on the ground, undoing his shoelace to give him something to do as he watched Jackson interact with Danny. The two friends were talking about the possibility of going over to a local burger joint for dinner after practice. The conversation bored Scott, but he continued eavesdropped and stalk Jackson until their coach ordered them to huddle around him like a king.

"All right you bunch of pussies," he said, pausing as he stared at one of the players. "What the hell is a matter with you, Helmner? You digest poison?"

"Uh…no coach."

"Oh, then it must be just how you are," said Coach Finstock. "All right. We're going to have a mock game. Co-Captains!"

Scott and Jackson stood alert.

"Scott, you're team white," he said and then he pointed at Jackson. "You're team red. Everyone, fall out."

Scott regroup with is team, all of them changing into their white practice uniforms. Scott took a quick glance at Jackson, who was chatting with Danny about the state game. Scott focused on his heartbeat, trying to see if there was any difference, but he could not.

There was only one way to test Jackson.

Scott and the rest of the team got into positions on the field. Scott came up to the front, right across from Jackson. He eyed the teenager, ready to begin the game. When coach Finstock blew the whistle, Scott charged at Jackson, knocking him off the ground and high into the air. Jackson landed flat on his back with a loud smack.

Coach Finstock blew the whistle again.

Teammates gathered around Jackson as he slowly lifted himself up on his elbows. Jackson looked directly at Scott. "What the hell McCall?" he asked. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

Scott shook his head. "No, I-I guess it was just a big burst of energy."

Coach Finstock joined his team. "You okay Jackson?"

Danny pulled Jackson to his feet. "Yeah," answered Jackson. "I'm okay."

Coach Finstock smacked Jackson's helmet. "Thatta boy," he said before turning to Scott. "Love your rough and tough bit. But, save that for our opponents. No need to take out your own teammates. Got that McCall?"

"Yes, coach," replied Scott before they had to go back into formation.

Coach Finstock blew the whistle again. Scott charged at Jackson, his wolf slightly coming out of him as he slammed Jackson to the ground. Jackson groaned on the ground as the team huddled around him again.

"Jesus, McCall," said a teammate, baffled. "What the hell is a matter with you?"

Scott didn't answer as he watched Jackson get up again. He picked up his lacrosse stick and told everyone he was all right. Everyone went back to their positions, but Jackson grabbed Scott.

"What is the hell a matter with you?" he asked.

"Nothing," lied Scott. "Just, playing the game…I guess too much."

"No shit, Sherlock," snapped Jackson. "Stop it or I will kill you."

The threat drained Scott's face of color as Jackson went back to the front of the lines, ready to play again. Scott slowly went back to his own, his heartbeat steadily rising as he watched, in what seemed like hours, the ball fly through the air as blurs of red and white flew by him.

Jackson came up the rear, barking orders to his team about what to do with the ball and which player needed to do what. Scott closed his eyes and prayed before he set off again toward Jackson. With relatively ease, Scott knocked Jackson back down as the co-captain face planted to the ground.

The whistle blew again and Scott could hear his teammates start to question his actions. Jackson, jumped to his feet and turned to Scott.

"That's it."

Jackson took his lacrosse stick and swung it at Scott's head. The strength of the force nearly knocked Scott over, but he only managed to wobble a bit before Jackson lunged at him. The two fell into a rolling fight. Jackson clobbered Scott as Scott tried to defect all the attempts. His wolf instincts were trying to kick in, but Scott held it back as much as he could to protect not only Jackson, but the others that now gathered around them.

Jackson only got in a few blows before Coach Finstock pulled him off. "What the _hell_ is going on between you two?" he demanded as Scott slowly got to his feet. "If this over a girl, I'm going to beat the crap out of you two. Stop trying to kill the other and play the goddamn game!"

Coach Finstock blew his whistle loudly and Scott had to cover his ears as his wolf side shuttered under the pitch.

For the rest of practice, Scott stopped going after Jackson. He and Jackson avoided each other on the practice field, passing the balls and commanding other teammates what to do. Scott had no need to be near Jackson. He had tested his friend three times and each time trying to provoke Jackson to show either his werewolf side or kanima side. After each blow, Scott used his wolf senses to see what Jackson became since the night Matt died and he had a "vision" of his dead parents.

Scott didn't discover anything. He didn't know if Jackson's either a kanima, werewolf, or human.

Jackson was still a mystery.

_**BREAK**_

Stiles poured himself a glass of orange juice. His father was busy working on a case to take of Stiles. However, he did call Stiles hourly to check up on his son. Stiles informed his father that he was fine and was going to work on some homework so he wouldn't fall too far behind.

At the moment, he was taking a small break and getting a snack. He checked the clock and realized that he would be out on the practice field with Scott, getting ready for their upcoming state match.

However, his father insisted he took the day off to recover from his attack last night. His overstay at the hospital had frightened his father back to the time of his mother's untimely death. Stiles felt guilty for putting his father back through those painful memories and feelings. He wished he could tell his father the truth about what was going on, but he feared that he would lose him. So, he kept quiet.

Stiles walked back up the stairs, juggling a hostess treat and a glass of orange juice. He tapped his bedroom door opened and walked through, slowly closing the door behind. He turned around, heading toward his desk when he bumped into something. His glass tipped over, the juice splashing on the carpet and his hostess treat smashed underneath his fingers and the clutched down onto the treats.

Looking up, Stiles saw the familiar bright blue eyes of Derek Hale.

"Shit!" he said.

Derek stared down at his stained T-shirt. He glared at Stiles. "Did you spill orange juice on me?"

Stiles stuttered. "Uh…no, no it was, uh, yeah, but in my defense you brought it upon yourself. I mean, what the hell are you doing here? Aren't you busy training your little wolf pack to kill and ruin us?"

"And aren't you supposed to be out on the fields with Scott?" countered Derek.

The two stared silently at each other for a short moment. Both of them stared despising at the other, though, Stiles slightly feeling threatened under Derek's gaze. After the unnerving silence between the two, Stiles broke the silence.

"If you think I'm going to help you," Stiles warned, "you're wrong."

"I didn't come here to get you to help me," said Derek, causing surprising Stiles. "I came to you because I need you to help Scott."

"Scott?" said Stiles, disconcerted. "What does Scott need help with…well, besides the Argents and a possible kanima—."

"Wait, what? What do you mean 'possible'?"

Stiles paused. "Nothing, so you, errr, said you need my help to help Scott?"

Derek suspiciously glared at Stiles for a moment, before answering Stiles's inquiry. "I can't believe I'm saying this," said Derek. "Listen, you're the only person I can trust at the moment that would do this."

"Do what?" asked Stiles, nervously.

"I need you to take Scott out of Beacon Hills for the weekend."

Stiles stared blankly at him. "That's all. I just need to occupy Scott for the weekend?" Stiles paused, suddenly intrigued as his brows lined quizzically along his forehead. "Why?"

"Why do you ask questions?"

"Because, although I'm slightly flattered that you trust me," said Stiles and Derek groaned, "I don't trust you! You've ruined Scott's chance at being normal. You've have tried to kill me several times…"

"I've never tried—."

"And you've tried to kill Lydia," added Stiles. "So, sorry if I'm not immediately onboard with your grand schemes because most of them suck."

"So you're either gonna tell me why," continued Stiles, "or I'm going to kick your furry ass out of my door."

Derek didn't appreciate the tone or the choice of words that Stiles used against him. But, he went against his temptation of throwing the young Stilenski boy out the bedroom window.

Derek bore down on his teeth to push back his wolf teeth. "I need you to take him away because they're close."

"Who's close?"

Derek turned to the window, looking out at one of the Beacon Hills neighborhoods. "The Originals. They're going to be here by the weekend," Derek turned around to face a stunned Stiles, "If they find Scott, your friend is dead."


	11. Chapter 11: Away

**Chapter 11: Away**

Scott got up early in the morning.

He couldn't sleep. His mind kept busying itself to figure out Jackson. He went outside onto his porch, watching the sun creep up behind the trees, casting long shadows that stretched toward the house.

Scott leaned over the railing, thinking of another plan to figure if the séance or Matt's death worked. He tried to call Stiles last night, but Stiles didn't answer his phone, which nerved Scott a bit, but he repeatedly told himself that Stiles was probably sleeping off the medication and probably horrible headache.

Scott was too deep in thought that he didn't hear his mother talking to him. It wasn't until she touched his shoulder that he shuddered out of his thoughts and back to reality.

"Huh?"

"I said," Mrs. McCall repeated, "it's nearly seven o'clock. You should be getting ready for school."

"Oh, right," said Scott. "Yeah."

Mrs. McCall stared at her son for a moment. "Is everything okay with you? You seem, I don't know, out of it?"

She checked Scott's forehead. "No, you're not running a fever," she said softly. "Still upset about the night in the woods?"

Scott shrugged helplessly and his mother's face turned grave. "Listen, sweetheart, I hate the thought of you having to witness a death. In such a cruel way too. I understand if you need to take time off."

Scott shook his head. "Nah, I'll be fine. Besides, I have lacrosse practice and homework to do. I'll be okay, Mom. I promise."

Mrs. McCall didn't seem convince, but she opened the front for her son to let him enter. Scott hurried, taking a quick, cold shower, and then throwing on jeans and a hoodie. He packed up his books and skipped down the stairs.

His mother handed him some lunch money and Scott grabbed an apple and granola bars, shoving in his backpack's front pocket. He said good-bye to his mother and went out through the front door again to get his bike.

"Hey Scott!"

Scott jumped at the sound of his name. He spun around to see Stiles parked by the McCall mailbox.

"Need a ride?"

Scott blinked. "Stiles, where've you been? I've tried calling you yesterday…"

Stiles winced a bit. "Yeah, about that, listen, I need to talk to you."

Scott opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Once the door closed, Stiles took off down the road.

"Okay, I tried to test Jackson," started Scott, forgetting that his best friend had something important. "But, nothing happened. It was as if he went back to being…I don't know…normal."

"You mean a human?" questioned Stiles as he made an illegal U-turn.

"Well, yeah," said Scott. "But, I couldn't tell. It was hard to get anything off of him."

"Did you try to provoke him?"

"Several times," said Scott, "But nothing worked. He didn't turn into a kanima or a werewolf. Just—."

"Human," finished Stiles. "Maybe it worked then?"

"Maybe," agreed Scott and he looked out his window.

Scott immediately recognized that Stiles was not driving on the route to school. Business buildings flew past Scott's window and Scott looked behind them, pulling out his mental map of Beacon Hills.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"School's that way," said Scott, jabbing his thumb behind. "Why are we going the opposite way?"

Stiles let out an uneasy sigh. "Well, that's what I needed to tell you about."

Stiles took a sharp turn and Scott could see they were exiting out Beacon Hills. "Stiles, tell me what's going on?"

"Well, for starters," said Stiles. "We're not going to school today."

"I figured that out."

"Instead, we're going camping!"

Scott raised his brows. "Camping?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah! You. Me. The woods…come on, we haven't done this since we were young."

Scott gazed at his friends suspiciously. "Stiles tell me what I don't know."

Stiles gave Scott the short version of his encounter with Derek last night. Scott listened to every word without interrupting his friend until Stiles breathed. Scott at stared incredulously at him

"And when did you start listening to Derek?" questioned Scott.

Stiles eyes widened. "When do I ever _not_ listen to Derek," replied Stiles. "He's a goddamn werewolf who's not afraid to rip my throat out…which he constantly reminds me."

Scott sunk into his seat. "So, they're coming? The Originals?"

"Derek said so."

"And we believe him?"

"Well, usually, I don't," said Stiles. "But, the look on his face convinced me to believe him."

"He was that scared?"

"Scared, worried, and nervous," said Stiles. "He even got rough when I told him he was a bit ridiculous."

"So, what?" said Scott. "We just hide out. Wait until the Originals leave Beacon Hills."

"Uh—yeah."

"But, what if they don't leave? What if they stay?"

"Derek said he could take care of it," said Stiles. "And, if he doesn't, then the Argents will."

That didn't make Scott feel any better. "What about my mom?"

"I already took care of that," said Stiles. "Call your mom near the end of school. Tell her that we decided to go camping for the weekend. That will buy us some time."

"That's not what I meant," said Scott. "What if my dad shows up?"

"You think he would?"

"Maybe."

"Well, I doubt it would be the first thing for him to do," said Stiles. "Besides, the Originals are here on business from what we know of."

"Doesn't mean he can't make it personal," countered Scott.

"We'll have to risk that."

"Risk my mom getting hurt!"

"No, no, of course not," said Stiles. "I meant we'd have to take the chance that he'll not visit her. Besides, why would he visit?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know! Maybe to see if I grew into my werewolf traits. Deaton told him it was possible that I could have grown into a werewolf."

Stiles passed a vehicle. "So, he'd come over to check?" he said. "Well, then we definitely got out get out of town."

After driving for another hour, Stiles pulled off the road at a park. He parked and grabbed a cooler and two sleeping bags and told Scott to grab the tent bag and a sack that carried clothes and miscellaneous supplies.

The two hiked into the woods and Scott began to hear less of life and more nature. After deepening themselves amongst the forests, Stiles stopped and asked Scott if he could hear anyone. Scott informed his friend that he could only hear nature and Stiles's heartbeat.

"Then this is our spot," said Stiles and he dropped the bags and cooler.

They hitched the tent and unrolled their sleeping bags with Scott's closer to the opening. Around the time school was let out, Stiles told Scott to call his mother. Scott did as he was told and informed his mother through her answering machine that he's going to go camping with Stiles for the weekend.

The blue sky darkened and sparkles of white light appeared above their heads. Stiles gathered a pile of nearby tree limbs and built a fire. The two huddled around it for warmth and Stiles handed Scott a hot dog to cook and a can of beer that he stole from his father's cabinet.

"Cheers," said Stiles clinking his can to Scott's.

Scott didn't drink his. He didn't even open it. He kept thinking about the ride up to this spot and how Stiles looked unsettled than usual. Derek has threatened him several times before, but Stiles never looked so unnerved. Scott noticed Stiles glancing around their campsite, picking up every time he heard a sound from the darkness around them.

"Hey Stiles?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Why did we have to leave Beacon Hills again?"

Stiles answered. "Because the Originals are coming to "fix" the problem and Derek said it would be best if we leave…if we wanted to live."

Scott perked up on the word "fix." "What do you mean 'fix'? Do you mean kill?"

Stiles tossed his hot dog wrapper into the roaring fire. "Yes."

Scott jumped to his feet. "Then we hafta go back!"

Stiles rose to his feet as well. "We can't!"

"Why not?!"

"Because if the Originals find out about you then they'll take you away!" shouted Stiles.

Scott wrinkled his brows. "Take me away? What do you mean? Stiles—."

Stile held up a hand. "Scott, I know you have this Messiah-type complex since you've been bitten," he said. "But, for once, you gotta stop risking your life."

"Stiles, what's going on?" His tone edged along anger. He needed to know what the hell was going on and Stiles postponing it irritated him.

Stiles sighed uneasily. "I didn't tell you everything in the car," he admitted. "Derek told me that I had to get you out of Beacon Hills so the Originals won't know of your existence."

"But…my dad—"

"Still thinks you're human," said Stiles. "If he finds out, then he's going to take you away. Make you a member of the Original pack."

Stiles stared directly into Scott's eyes. "You'll no longer be the friend I know now."

"W-What do you mean?" asked Scott, his stomach restless from the anxiety. "How will I not be your friend?"

Stiles grumbled and then sighed. "Derek said that if the Originals discover your existence then you'd be good as dead to us."

Scott didn't know what to do or say. Stiles sunk back down to the foliage ground, picking up a stick and breaking it into several pieces. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, only the sounds of flies and crickets interrupted the night.

Scott lowered himself back down next to Stiles. "Why…why would Derek say that? What did he mean by that?"

Stiles didn't look over at Scott. "The Originals will transform you Scott," he said. "They'll turn you into a monster."

"That's why I had to get you out," said Stiles. "Derek said if they find you, they'll make you kill. So, I did what I did to save you from them, okay? Sue me, but I wasn't going to let my best friend be turned into an evil fury monster!"

Scott remained quiet for a moment. He could sense his friend's heart flutter in overwhelming anxiety. Deep empathy grew inside of him for his friend's fear and love for him.

"Thank Stiles," said Scott, sincerely, "for looking out for me."

Stiles shoulders shrugged forward. "Well, that's what friends do, right?"

"Yeah," said Scott and for a brief period, the two friends just watched the fire flicker. Then, Scott turned back to Stiles, "But what about our other friends? The ones left behind?"

Stiles threw his last twinge into the fire. "Derek swore he'd do his best to protect them."

"Them?"

"Lydia. Jackson. Even Allison…though he still kinda hates her."

"He hates everyone," said Scott. "Including you and me."

"True," said Stiles, glancing up at the sky. "Very true. More so me than you."

Scott stood up again. "Stiles, I appreciate you trying to protect me. But, if the Originals are here to destroy and kill our friends," he said, "then we should be there to protect them. Not here, hiding out."

Stiles looked up at Scott, a small smile forming on his lips. "And there's your Messiah-Complex again." Stiles stood up. "But, you got a good point."

Stiles pulled out his jeep keys. "Let's go kick some Original ass."

Scott smiled and the two went off to pack their things again. After gathering their belongings and putting out the fire, Scott used his wolf senses and eyesight to lead them back to Stiles's abandoned jeep.

Throwing the stuff in the back, they hopped into the jeep and buckled in. Stiles turned the engine on. "Promise me one thing, Scott."

"Yeah?"

"Keep fighting."

Scott nodded, knowing perfectly well what Stiles meant, even without using his wolf powers.

"I promise."

_**BREAK**_

Melissa McCall checked the answering machine and heard about Scott and Stiles's camping adventure.

Although she would normally disapprove, she wasn't exactly here to stop either of them from going. She wished that she could spend more time at home with her son, but since the divorce, she had to pick up extra shifts from the hospital to pay the bills.

Scott helped out as well with his job at the vet's office. She was so thankful that Dr. Deaton offered Scott a part-time job as she thought it would help motivate Scott to become some sort of doctor. She could see her son being a doctor, saving lives.

As she grabbed her purse, the doorbell rang. No one has ever rung the doorbell. The only people that ever come over were Scott's friends and they simply either walk in or climb through the bedroom window. Or, if it was Stiles's, he would have a key to let himself into the house.

Melissa walked over, brushing stands of her curly hair out of her eyes, and opened the door.

A man in his early forties stood in front of her with dark hair, chiseled chin, and brown, almond-shaped eyes. Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, he stood comfortably and gazed lovingly and pleasantly as if he and Melissa were old, dear friends.

"Hello," he said.

Melissa's mouth fell opened. "Oh my God…Harold?"


	12. Chapter 12: Advent

**Chapter 12: Advent**

Melissa handed Harold a mug of warm coffee.

"So, what brings you in town?" she asked, after calling her office and asking a colleague to take an hour of her shift. "Business?"

Harold placed the mug on the table. "Nearby, but I thought I should visit you and Scott," He glanced about the room. "Is Scott home?"

Melissa took a seat across from her ex-husband. "Uh, no, he and Stiles went camping."

Harold's dark eyebrows rose. "Stiles? He's still friends with that weirdo?"

Melissa coughed. "Yeah, well, Stiles has always been there for him," she said. "Unlike someone I know…"

Harold's fingers curled. "I remember you telling me to never come back?"

"And I remember you never being a good father to Scott before the divorce," retorted Melissa, feeling angrier every minute.

Harold paused, his brows deepening before relaxing and lifting his mug. "You're right," he said, taking a small sip. "I wasn't the world's best father to Scott. I guess I wasn't cut out for it."

"No you weren't," said Melissa.

The two sat in silence for a long moment. Melissa sat uncomfortably, wishing Harold didn't come knocking on their door. He looked the same as he once did before. Hauntingly handsome, with eyes that could penetrate into one's soul, Harold had no trouble attracting girls.

Melissa first met Harold at a local bar. She and her friends were at the bars, celebrating and mourning the end of their college years and heading off to new adventures. As she and her friends drank up, the bar's doors chimed and her friend giggled and said that a hot stranger had just entered. Melissa glanced over her shoulder and spotted Harold. She agreed with her friend, finding Harold very attractive, but she doubted he would ever find her so equally as well with all these pretty (and drunk) women around.

Harold came up to the bar next to them and ordered a drink. Melissa's friend encouraged her to talk to him, but she shyly refused. So, her friend took up the challenged and made acquaintance with him. Then, she introduced Harold to Melissa.

They talked for a few minutes and Melissa kept falling more in love with him by the minute. She could listen to that deep, matured voice for hours. But, soon, after finishing his beer, he claimed it was time for him to go. He left and Melissa again felt like an idiot, thinking she made him flee.

When the celebration ended, Melissa headed down the sidewalk, going back to her small apartment, when she heard a car rumble. She looked over and noticed that a car had slowed down and heard men cat-calling her.

Fear tickled her spine and she wished she didn't have so many drinks. Her legs, nimble, could barely walk, let alone run. The car stopped and three men got out and headed in her direction.

Melissa pulled out her keys to protect herself. The men, however, were not frightened.

"Oooo…look like we got some fine piece of ass here," said one of the men.

Melissa gulped, her grip on her keys tightening. She was too focused on the men in front that she didn't noticed another one was coming up behind her. The buy behind her, wrapped his arms around her thin frame. She screamed and started kicking and pulling his arms off of her. The guys laughed and advanced. Tears sprung to her eyes, feeling helpless to do anything.

As the head man reached over to touch her, she closed her eyes, still kicking and trying to pull away. Suddenly, she heard a crash. She felt body loosen and she fell to the ground. Her eyes opened wide to see a figure standing in front of her, defending her.

Another man charged at the new stranger. With relative ease, the stranger took out the man with single throw. When he straightened to face the others, the men fled, leaving the stranger and Melissa alone.

Melissa pushed herself to her feet, clinging to the wall. The stranger, after watching the men flee, turned around to face her. It was Harold. The man from the bar.

Harold scanned her. "You all right?"

Melissa nodded. "Yeah…thank you."

Harold shrugged nonchalantly. "It was nothing," he said, looking down the road. "You need a ride?"

Melissa shook her head. "My apartment…it's just down the road here."

"Then let me walk with you," said Harold, holding out his arm for her to take. "It's not safe for a lady like you to be wandering alone."

Melissa eyed the arm. Harold smiled. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know," said Melissa and she took his arm. "I'm just…"

"Shaken?"

Melissa nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, a nice big cup of tea will work," said Harold. "And some sleep too."

They walked to her apartment and Melissa offered Harold if he wanted tea as well, as a thank you for saving her from those men. Harold declined, but claimed a date with her tomorrow would make it up just fine.

The two went out on a date and, for Melissa, it was magically. Months later, she discovered she was pregnant. She informed Harold and he proposed marriage. Another month later, she and Harold married. She couldn't be any happier.

Until after Scott was born.

That was when everything fell apart.

Melissa glanced at her watch. She needed to leave for work. She picked up her bag. "Listen, I have to go to work," she said. "Um…Scott's not going to be here and I really wish you wouldn't be here when he comes home."

Harold breathed in, but relaxed, looking over his mug. "I understand," he said and he stood up. "Thanks for the coffee."

Harold tightened his coat jacket and headed to the front door. Melissa followed him out and she noticed the black sports car.

"I see you haven't changed much," she said, eyeing the car. "Still like to live expensively."

Harold looked from his car to Melissa. "It's nothing."

"No, it isn't," she said. "Not to you anyway."

"I offered to help pay for child's support…"

"We don't need it," said Melissa. "We're doing just fine."

Harold eyed the downtrodden house. "Yes, of course. My apologies."

Harold opened his door and sat down, rearing the engine on. He did a quick circle and stopped next to Melissa. "Do you need a ride to work?"

Melissa eyes narrowed. "I'm fine." She went to her car and unlocked the doors.

Harold remained, watching her. "Well, tell Scott…"

"That you didn't stop by," said Melissa. "I will."

She entered her own car and drove away, watching the rearview mirror. Harold car turned away from her house and the opposite side.

_**BREAK**_

Scott and Stiles arrived outside the abandoned railway station. Scott jumped out of the jeep, listening and sensing for any thing. He finally sensed Derek, but no one else.

Stiles exited out of the jeep, joining Scott. "So, do you know where we go from here?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah, Derek's underground."

"You mean, like, dead?"

"What? No!"

"Oh," said Stiles, a little disappointed. "Where?"

Scott led the way down to the old railway station. Stiles complained of the cobwebs that clung to his short hair. He flailed his hands up, trying to get a creepy spider off his jacket's sleeve.

"Jesus! Couldn't he live in a decent place for once?" questioned Stiles as they came to the landing.

Derek turned around upon their entrance and his face fell. He marched over, glaring directly at Stiles. "I thought I told you—."

Stiles held his hand up. "Listen, I tried, and, obviously, I failed."

Scott butted in. "I'm not going to run away and hide while my friends are in danger."

Derek groaned. "This is about saving your friends! And everyone in this damn town too!"

"By telling me to go away?"

"The Originals are here," said Derek, but neither of the boys seemed terrified. "They're here to kill anyone involved in this Kanima affair. Including you, your friends, and your _precious_ werewolf hunters."

Scott became frustrated. "Maybe I can help?" he insisted. "I could possibly talk to them… "

"You can't talk to them! Their orders are final. Their decisions are final. Talking won't change it. And, if they find you, you'll be forced to participate," said Derek. "Disagreeing with them can get you killed."

"My dad…he wouldn't—."

"Yeah, well I didn't think my uncle would kill my sister," said Derek, "but I was wrong."

"Your father…the Originals," continued Derek, his tone serious, "will do whatever it is best to keep the existence of werewolves a secret. They don't care about keeping your friends alive or saving them. They'll kill them if they are in the way."

"I won't let them," argued Scott. "As an Original, I have a say in the decisions as well!"

"You might be born as an Original, but you're not in their pack," stated Derek, "not yet. That's why I had Stiles send you away. If you join them, then you have to kill or be killed. Saving your friends from their orders will get you killed and still get your friends killed."

Derek pointed to the exit. "Now get out of Beacon Hills before they find you!"

Scott stood his stance, refusing to budge. "I'm not going to leave my friends to die while I hide. I don't care about the Originals. And, as of now, they don't care about me. But I care about one thing. My friends."

Derek growled. "You're an idiot!" he said. "They are going to cause your death and you're going to cause theirs."

Stiles, who had listened the whole time looked between them. "Okay, easy there. No need to go for each other's throats," Stiles chuckled at his own pun. Scott and Derek didn't find it amusing. "Okay, as a member of the friend's category, I'm siding with Scott. I might be human, but I'm not useless. I can take care of myself. And, these Originals…they haven't met us yet."

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles. "Yes, because _you're_ going to give them hell."

"We're not running away," said Scott. "You can either let us help or you can just simply deal with us because we're not going anywhere."

Stiles nodded in agreement, but slunk behind Scott when Derek glared at him with glowing blue eyes.

Scott flashed his yellow eyes. Derek glanced between the two friends. His shoulders sagged forward. "Whatever," he said, "but I warned you." He ushered the two to follow him. Derek led them inside the broken rail train and he showed them a map.

"I have a few ideas where they'll gathered," said Derek and Scott and Stiles looked over the map. "Your father, apparently, has visited our house once. So, he might have them go there."

"But, it's gone," said Stiles. Derek showed his teeth. "I mean it's not completely there. It's not whole…you know…yeah."

Derek snarled at Stiles, but Scott intervened. "But it's still a good gathering place," said Scott, then pointing to another mark. "What's this place?"

Derek looked over the map. "It's an, um, old mansion," he explained. "The owners rent it out. Very expensive, but the Originals wouldn't have a problem occupying it for a short period of time. It was an option."

"Who owns it?"

Derek shrugged. "No idea. I just know that it exists."

"Okay, what's the another place?" asked Stiles.

Derek sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I don't know if the whole clan will come," he admitted. "It's possible that the Alpha will only send a few Betas to do the job."

"So… like a hotel or something?"

"Or a relative."

Derek looked up at Scott's face when he said those words. Scott felt the blood rush out of his heart. He felt faint, cold. Like having an asthma attack. "You mean…they might come to my house?"

Stiles blinked and fidgeted when he looked at Derek. "You're thinking the Alpha sent Scott's dad."

"The Alpha knows Scott's dad has lived here before," explained Derek. "He'll send him because he'll know the routes, the people, and the places."

"My dad is here to kill my friends?"

"Most likely," said Derek. "That was the major reason I wanted you gone. Because I thought there was a chance the two would meet."

Scott gripped the edge of the table. "My mom, she hates my dad," he said. "She wouldn't let him near me. I don't think. Oh God…I gotta get home!"

Derek grabbed Scott's arm. "Wait out at Stiles'," he advised. "Return in the early morning. There's a chance he might be there now."

"My mom—."

Stiles jumped in. "She'll be at work, right? She works the night shifts."

Stiles was right and Scott relaxed. Derek let go of Scott's arm. "Okay. Before we run out without a plan," said Derek. "We'll need a plan."

"I gotta call my mom though," said Scott, pulling out his phone and dialing. "I need to know if she's okay."

Scott waited as the phone rang and then he heard his mother's voice.

"Hey Scott," she answered. "How's camping?"

"It's, er, great," said Scott. "Sorry about the last notice. I was just, uh, wondering, are you home?"

"No, I'm at work," she said. "You should know that."

"Okay, sorry, slipped my mind," said Scott. "I just wanted to see if I left something on my bed. Nevermind. I'll see you later."

"Uh-huh," she said. "Bye sweetie."

"Bye."

Scott hung up the phone. "She's at work."

Stiles clapped his hands. "Told you. So, she's safe."

"Great," said Derek, insincerely, "Can we focus at the task at hand now that we know Scott's mother is safe?"

Stiles, Scott, and Derek studied and mapped out possible strategies in case one went awry or the Originals did something different. They also had to plan the Argent's plan of attack. Scott insisted they try to get them involved, but Derek refused.

"It would be a bigger blood bath than what you want," said Derek.

Even Stiles agreed. "With their main mission on avenging Kate and crazy momma," he said. "They'll kill anyone in their way."

Derek stared at Stiles with utter surprise. Stiles narrowed his brows in retaliation. "I'm not an idiot," he said to Derek.

"Anyway," said Scott. "What about Allison?"

"I don't think she's in the mood to hang-out with werewolves," said Derek. "I've seen her. She's turned into Kate. A ruthless killer."

Scott's inside churned and he wanted to lash out at Derek. Stiles noticed and grabbed his arms. "Stay calm and collective. We got bigger issues at hand than fighting over a girl at the moment."

Scott retracted his nails and let out a rush of hot air. "Fine, so we won't tell the Argents about the plan. But, that doesn't mean we let any of them get killed!"

Derek shoulders shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever, now, Jackson?"

"We think we might have actually cured Jackson's kanima," said Stiles and he explained the whole séance episode to Derek, who seemed less at ease by the news.

"A séance cured him?" said Derek, skeptically. "You actually believe that?"

"Why not?" countered Scott. "If werewolves exist and kanimas…then maybe a séance can work?"

Derek darkly chuckled. "Naives," he muttered.

Scott and Stiles eyed each other, disagreeing with Derek's assumption.

"I tested him to see if he'd turn into a werewolf or a kanima," said Scott.

"And?" asked Derek.

"Nothing happened. He was the same as usual."

"That's because he's probably still the kanima," said Derek. "You idiots think you know everything because of Google. There's more to it than technology."

"Okay, genius," said Stiles. "What do we do?"

Derek slumped forward. "I don't know."

"Fantastic," Stiles scoffed. "We at least tried something."

Derek ignored Stiles and refocused back to the planning. "All right," he said. "The only way to save your friends and keep the Originals from killing everyone is to keep Jackson occupied."

"Occupied?" said Stiles. "Like…lock him up?"

"Possibly," Derek said. "But, then again, I don't think it will work. The Originals will keep hunting until they find it and kill it."

"Then what?" asked Scott, desperately.

Derek pondered for a moment before his eyes brightening. "I think I have an idea, but you two have to promise you won't do anything stupid."

Stiles and Scott looked at each, communicating through facial expressions. Scott turned back to Derek. "Depends on your plan."

Derek leaned over the table pointing at a spot on the map. "Let's just say this will be our center stage."

_**BREAK**_

Dr. Deaton as filing away some last minute paperwork when he heard the front door open and the bell ringing. Confused at who would come to the vet at such an unusual hour, he walked toward the entrance.

"I'm sorry, but we're closed—."

The man stood with his hands in his jacket's pockets, admiring the decorated walls of cats and dogs and the high school spirit. Dr. Deaton didn't move, but stayed in the same spot, watching the visitor.

The visitor finally looked away from the walls and to the good doctor. His dark eyes scanned and studied the vet. "I see you haven't changed much."

Dr. Deaton didn't smile. "And neither you, Harold."

Harold grinned. "I see that my son works for you."

Dr. Deaton ignored Harold's comment about his son, redirecting it back to him. "What brings you back to Beacon Hills? Personal visit?"

"Business," answered Harold.

"As always," said Dr. Deaton, unsurprised. "So, you've come to me for what?"

Harold lips grew into a knowingly smirk. "You already know what I came here for."

"Do I?"

"My old friend," said Harold. "I've known you for too long. You know what goes on around this town. You know every supernatural tidbit that happens here in Beacon Hills."

Harold gripped the edges of the counter, his hands not arching back. His dark eyes bored into Deaton's own eyes. His voice, haunting, as he spoke to the vet.

"Dites-moi tout ce que vous savez."


	13. Chapter 13: Assemble

**Chapter 13: Assemble**

Stiles and Scott busied themselves through the night at Stiles's house. Stiles gathered bullets from his father's stockpile and handed them to Scott to break open. When Scott finished empty the cartridges, he stood back as Stiles had to pour wolfsbane into half and mountain ash in the rest. Tightly, Stiles capped on the cartridges tops and examined the work.

"Well, I pray to whoever that these bullets will work against an Original," said Stiles as Scott edged over to look at the new products. "Because if they don't…I'm dead."

"No you won't," said Scott. "I'll make sure of it"

"That's reassuring," said Stiles as he hid the gun and newly created bullets. "But, what if it doesn't work?"

"What do you mean it doesn't work? They're wolfsbane and Mountain Ash. It'll work."

"We're not necessarily dealing with plain old werewolves though Scott," said Stiles. "We're talking about the Originals…"

"I'm an Original!"

"You're an entirely different species," countered Stiles. "Even Dr. Deaton said so…pretty much."

Scott slumped to the ground, resting his head on Stiles's bed. "Yeah, well, Dr. Deaton also said that Mountain Ash would work on any supernatural creature."

Stiles still didn't seem convinced. Scott threw a pillow at his head. "Relax," he said as Stiles caught the flying pillow. "Nothing will happen to you. I promise."

Stiles nodded, but clutched the pillow tightly. "Um…Scott, what if we, er, we run into your Dad?"

Scott paused for a long moment. He had thought about what would happened if he came face to face with his father. Scott honestly didn't know if his father would kill him or if he would drag Scott away. In fact, Scott's worse fear was that the others would run into his father before he did.

"I don't know," said Scott. "I-I haven't really…I don't know."

"Because I mean, I don't really want to shoot him," said Stiles. "But, if he tries to kill me…"

"I know," said Scott. "You gotta do what you gotta do. I'm kind of just hoping that he doesn't run into any of you guys."

"You mean you want to confront him first."

Scott nodded. "Maybe try to convince him to back off or leave Beacon Hills. Tell them that we can fix the whole kanima thing without anyone dying."

"Well, that's a lie," said Stiles.

"You know what I mean," said Scott. "Without Allison, Jackson, or you dying."

"Don't forget Lydia."

"Lydia too," added Scott. "I'm really hoping that we can send them away."

Stiles nervously chewed on his pencil. "And if you can't?"

Scott sighed heavily. "Then you have my permission to shoot my father."

The sudden uneasiness settled in quickly between the two after that last comment. Stiles nearly chewed his pencil all the way to the lead filling until he flicked away on his desk. He jumped up, stretching his arms toward the ceiling.

"Well, I'm going to get a sleeping bag for you." Stiles threw the pillow back at Scott, hitting him square in the face.

Stiles exited the room. The wind rattled the windows, causing Scott to stand up and look out. He could feel it. Feel them. It was strange to him, but he knew, deep down, that they were out there. The Originals, hiding in wait, to do the job they came to do.

Scott's claws curled out and gripped the windowpane. He could sense their desire to kill, to harm. But, Scott promised to himself, he wasn't going to let them. Not as long as he was alive and living in Beacon Hills.

Footsteps droned in his ears and Scott turned around to see Stiles carrying a rolled sleeping bag in his hands.

Stiles dropped. "Okay, there you go," he said. "Night!" Stiles fell onto of his bed and was asleep instantly.

Scott turned back to the window. He looked at all the sleepy houses and realized that none of them know how much danger they truly are in by living here.

_**BREAK**_

The funeral was bleak.

To Allison, all she could think about was Derek's dead body. That's all she wanted to do. Kill him. Avenge for her mother's death. As the attendees began to file out, Allison took one last look at her mother's coffin. The casket rested over a rectangular hole, next to Kate's gravestone.

Mother and Aunt. The only females she grew up around. The only ones she confided in when times were rough or she needed advice on which clothes to wear. Now, she could never ask anything from them. She could never hear their words of comfort or fear. She'll no longer have her mother's homemade pies ever again. She'll never get to go on shopping trips with her dear aunt again. All of those sweet memories were in the past. And she could never make more.

As she and her father got back into the car, she wept. Her father looked at her in the review mirror, but said nothing. Sometimes, people just need to cry.

At home, Allison hid up in her bedroom. She refused dinner or even chatting with her Gerard, despite wanting her to come down and make a decision on a hunt. She could hear her father tell her grandfather that it was too soon, but her grandfather paid no heed.

"It's time she learns how to play with the big boys," Gerard said.

Allison listened, but did not dare exit out of her room. As another fresh tear streamed down her face, all she could think about was a few months ago. When all she knew was that her sweet boyfriend was an incredible lacrosse star. Her father sold guns to police force. Her mother cooked wonderful feasts. And Kate was cool enough to be her big sister.

Then it fell when she first discovered her boyfriend is a werewolf. Her aunt is a psychotic killer. And her father hunted down werewolves with the guns they store in their basement and that they have secretly been training her since she could walk.

Why couldn't they just be a normal family?

_**BREAK**_

Gerard and Chris Argent headed down to the basement, where they reviewed a map of Beacon Hills. Chris suggested they check the woods and the abandoned railway, but Gerard disclaimed the area.

"It's nowhere a werewolf would go," said Gerard. "Besides, they won't be hiding there."

"And why not?" asked Chris, annoyed.

"Because they have bigger issues now."

"What do you mean by bigger issues?"

"I wasn't talking about Derek Hale when I told you that Allison needs to get into the game to play with the big boys," explained Gerard. "They're coming. The kanima brought them here."

"Who're they? What are you talking about?"

"The Originals."

Chris shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "They stay in Europe. They never come overseas."

Gerard snapped at his son. "Don't be such a naive hunter! I didn't train you to be stupid! Why do you think we came over? Huh? We came to America because those monsters came to America."

Chris didn't balk at Gerard uproar. He agreed that they came to kill werewolves that escaped to America. But, the Originals stayed in Europe. Why would they come here? To stop the kanima? Or something else?

"Both."

Chris looked back at his father. "What?"

"The answer to your question is both," said Gerard. "They are here to fix a problem. But, I fear that once they arrive, they'll have a new plan."

Chris crossed his arms. "What are you not telling me?"

Gerard picked up one of the guns and began to disassemble it. "I have heard rumors of their coming since kanima's appearance. But, now, I think the rumors have become truths. They're coming."

"Just to kill the kanima?"

"And maybe more."

"More? Like what?"

Gerard cleaned the gun, reloading it with wolfsbane bullets. "I'm not quite sure," he said. "But I'm working on a theory."

Chris didn't like the tone of his father's voice. It seemed unpleasant, more so than usual. Chris took the gun from Gerard's hand, replacing it back in its storage locker. He locked the storage and leaned back over the map, while Gerard scowled.

"So…how are we going to handle the situation?" asked Chris.

Gerard reached for his pocket and took two of his medications. "As of now, we should stay in the backdrop."

Chris swung his head up. "Backdrop? After what Derek did to my wife—."

"The Originals are coming," said Gerard, sternly. "We let them deal with the kanima and the other werewolves."

"And we just stay on the sidelines?"

"No," said Gerard, quietly. "We wait until the right moment…then we strike."

_**BREAK**_

The forests surrounding Beacon Hills gave off an eerie feeling at night. The half moon rose above the naked trees, creating long shadows that drooped upon the forest floor. Leaves shifted with the wind, blanketing the ground that turned raw with mud due to the recent rain and cool temperatures. The houses beyond the forests sat at rest in the darkness, unaware of the danger that lurked in their backyards, passing through like guests.

Deep in the forests, a group dressed in dark clothes to blend in with the dark scenery, awaited news. They gave off no impression of fear, for they themselves rarely feel it. They stood underneath the moon's casting with comfortable patience. Only when they heard the sounds of leaves being trampled that their face perked, but even then, they were not afraid.

Arriving to the site was Harold. He approached with light feet, going across the empty space that the others have circled. They let him pass as he headed straight to a man that stood by the top, a man more daunting and hauntingly in appearance.

Harold gave a short bow. The man didn't glance down at him. Instead the man looked up at the moon. "Vous avez pris beaucoup de temps."

"Je suis désolé," said Harold. "Il y avait quelques complications."

The man's eyes narrowed at up toward the mountain. "Eh bien?"

Harold stood up next to the man. "Deaton a refusé de parler," he said, "comme toujours."

The man chuckled. "Bien sûr, il le ferait. Cela signifie qu'il se cache quelque chose."

"Je pensais que, comme bien," said Harold. "Mais, je crois que je sais d'une personne qui pourrait nous aider."

The man's eyebrows rose with interest. "Ne dites."

"Je sais que d'un loup-garou ici," said Harold. "Il va parler."

The man nodded in approval. "Trouvez-le. Et amenez-le moi."

Harold bowed again and walked away, his pace quickening as he left to search for his prey.

_**BREAK**_

Peter stood atop of the hill. He watched the scene below as the Originals lurked in the forests, waiting for the precise moment to purge. He didn't think they could sense him all the way from the top of the mountain-ish hill. But, then again, they were Originals and their servants. It could be possible that they sense him, but do not care enough to search for him.

Peter could easily spot the leader. He had never seen him before. He had seen Harold, once upon a time ago. But, the leader seemed unequal to anyone. His stance and concentrated energy was unbound by any person or supernatural Peter has ever seen. There was no mistaking the leader. He was the Alpha of the Original pack.

Peter shivered. The smell of power ripened from the Alpha that Peter wanted to actually flee. As the Alpha's eyes moved toward his direction, Peter ducked behind a boulder. As he crotched down, he wondered if Scott would be as affected by the Alpha's presence as he is. Do other Originals sense the same things other werewolves do?

Peter never knew, but all he knew now was that he couldn't keep hiding in the shadows much longer. He'll need to ensure Scott's trust in order to get Scott to side with him.

Peter heard a howl and slowly, he began his stealthily climb down the mountain-ish hill and back toward Beacon Hills where, in due time, chaos will start.

**** For the English version between Harold and the Alpha**

Harold gave a short bow. The man didn't glance down at him. Instead the man looked up at the moon. "You took a long time."

"I'm sorry," said Harold. "There were a few complications."

The man's eyes narrowed at up toward the mountain. "Well?"

Harold stood up next to the man. "Deaton refused to speak," he said, "as always."

The man chuckled. "Of course he would. That means he's hiding something."

"I figured that as well," said Harold. "But, I think I know of a person that could help us."

The man's eyebrows rose with interest. "Do tell."

"I know of a werewolf around here," said Harold. "He'll talk."

The man nodded in approval. "Find him. And bring him to me."

Harold bowed again and walked away, his pace quickening as he left to search for his prey.


	14. Chapter 14: Affray

**Chapter 14: Affray**

Derek Hale's pack waited for him to give them instructions on how to deal with the kanima and to deal with the upcoming presence of Peter Hale. When Derek came storming down the steps, carrying a big trunk, the three betas became alert with the tension and fear coming from their powerful awful.

"What's a matter?" asked Erica. "Did a cat catch your tongue?"

Derek's eyes fell into slits and Erica wished she could take back the statement. Derek dropped the trunk and kicked it open, revealing weapons and tools. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd's eyebrows rose at the magnificent sight.

"What's with the weapons?" asked Isaac.

Derek picked up a small crossbow. "Typically, we fight with our natural abilities," said Derek. "But, I fear that might not be enough against what we're are about to deal with soon."

"Why? Did your uncle become some sort of new supernatural creature?" questioned Isaac.

"No," said Derek. "At the moment, we don't have to worry about him. We have to worry about something else. Something that's much bigger."

"Like what?" questioned Boyd.

"Every creature on Earth started from somewhere," said Derek. "For example, Adam and Eve are the original humans."

"And what that has to do with us?" said Isaac.

Derek pulled out a strange shaped arrowhead from the trunk. "Because our originals are in town. And they're here to fix things."

"Fix things?" said Erica.

"Kill, destroy," said Derek, nonchalantly, "whatever you wanna call it. They came here to clean up the mess."

Isaac, Boyd, and Erica stared depressingly and shockingly at their Alpha. Nerves stung after hearing that more powerful werewolves were coming to town to possibly eliminate them.

Fumes would have erupted from their ears, but as they were humans, only their face turned to a crimson shade.

"Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?" demanded Boyd.

"Because I was too focused on fixing the situation before they came," said Derek. "I thought if we could stop the kanima, they wouldn't have a reason to come to Beacon Hills."

"Well, that plan backfired," stated Isaac.

"I know," growled Derek. "Thank you very much."

There was a pause and Isaac's eyes rose back to Derek. "Does _Scott_ know about the Originals coming?"

Derek threw the arrowhead back to the trunk. He didn't answer immediately; too busy focusing on the other objects. He only answered when Isaac repeated the question. "Yes," he said. "Scott knows."

Derek could sense his betas frustration. He knew that the three were envious of not Scott's advance power, but Derek's relationship with the kid. He didn't need his wolf senses to know that. He could see it in their eyes when Scott walked into the room and how Scott easily fought (and won) against Derek. The jealous fury that glowed in their eyes heated their hearts every time they heard Scott's name or sense his presence. They didn't like him and none of them wished he joined their pack.

"Why does he know before us?" chimed Erica. "I thought we were a pack?"

"We are," said Derek. "Now, stop worrying about Scott and focus over here."

Derek gave them the quick rundown of the situation at hand. He informed them of Jackson's possible transition from kanima to human, but he noted that it could possibly be false information. Then, he gave them a quick rundown of the Originals. He could hear their heartbeats pick up, but he couldn't shield them from this knowledge.

Erica raised her hand. "I don't see how this has to be a problem," she said. "If they are here to fix the kanima problem, then let them. Let them kill Jackson. It'll take a load off of us."

"It's not that straight-forward," said Derek.

"What do you mean?" asked Isaac.

"The Originals will kill the Kanima, but they won't stop at that," said Derek. "They'll hunt us down and judge us."

"Judge?"

"Decide if we live or die."

Isaac twitched nervously. "Well, that's not comforting at all."

Boyd folded his arms in front of his chest. "But, what reason would they have against us?"

Derek shrugged. "I don't know. They can easily make one up. Like, you didn't do enough to stop this incident. You've helped the possibility of exposing werewolves. I can give you a full list of excuses they can use to chop you in half."

Boyd's arms drop. "Maybe we should run then?"

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Because…they are already here," said Derek. "Running will make us look guilty and they will hunt us down and kill us without questioning. This way, we have some sort of survival."

"By using weapons against them?"

"Only if necessary," added Derek. "Don't need to hunt them down. Just use these to protect yourself."

Isaac grabbed a revolver and gave it a sniff. His nose crinkled and he nearly dropped the gun. "It seems…revolting!"

"It contains wolfsbane bullets," said Derek. "So, don't point it at any of us."

Isaac lowered the gun. Erica and Boyd picked their weapon of choice. Derek trained them on how to aim straight at the target for an hour before sending them away to their homes. Isaac asked if he could practice with the bow, but Derek told him that he had something to do. Isaac left and Derek was alone in the abandoned railway.

Derek gathered up the weapons, placing them back inside the trunk. Slamming it closed, he locked it. He wished that there were other ways to protect his Betas from being killed. He knew he should have warned them earlier about the Originals coming.

Derek sat down on top of the trunk, dropping his head into his hands. How he desired to go back to the past to change things, but it was too late. Dwelling on the past won't make things better in the future. He had to focus. He needed to focus in order to save not only his three betas from death but also from Scott's possible fate.

"So, this is the new Hale residence?"

Derek snapped his head up. Standing in the archway was a grown man with dark hair and haunting dark eyes that scanned disgustedly about the railway.

"I like the old one better," said the man, wiping his finger on wall, revealing black dust on the tip. "It was much cleaner."

Derek rose to his feet. Adrenaline pumped through his heart, coursing it to the rest of his body in preparation. He didn't need to know _who_ the person was because he already knew _what _he was.

An Original.

_**BREAK**_

Stiles snored in the background of the moon light bedroom. The soft creaking sounds alerted the house of winds that are trying to sneak inside. Swooshing sounds of the fan echoed against the bedroom walls. And the only person that could hear it was Scott.

He couldn't fall asleep as quickly as Stiles could. Ever since the new arrivals, Scott was on full alert. He could hear almost every sound outside. He could hear the rose bushes on Mrs. Etherson's lawn bristle in the wind and a cricket chirping a mile away from Stiles's house.

Scott tossed and turned in his sleeping bag, thinking about his childhood. It wasn't anything spectacular. Nothing to rave. He grew up wearing hand-me down clothes or sewn clothes his mother made in her spare time. The television had three channels and the toy chest contained maybe five toys. Scott remembered going over to Stiles's house a lot because he had more games and his household wasn't as strained as his was.

But, what Scott tried to remember the most about his past was his father. Was there any sign back then that his father was a werewolf? Did his mother know? Possibly, but maybe not? Would he be able to recognize his father now?

All these ideas jumbled in Scott's mind as he laid snug in the sleeping bag. Until a sound of a wolf's howl interrupted his train of thoughts. He shot up from his sleeping bag and threw the window opened, causing the windowpane to rattle. The jolt of excitement forced Stiles awake as he shook his head around, scanning the bedroom.

"W-what's going on?" he asked sleepily.

Scott leaned out the window. He heard another howl. "It's a howl."

Stiles jumped out of bed and joined Scott next to the window. "Are you sure?"

Scott nodded.

"Is it Derek's? Peter's?"

Scott shook his head. "No, it neither of theirs."

Stiles slunk back, his mouth agape. "Then…that means…"

Scott turned back to his friend. "It's an Original," Scott listened closely again. "And it doesn't sound good."

_**BREAK**_

Derek stood guard, his fingers curled into fists to keep his claws from extracting.

The Original didn't seem to notice or care. He gracefully entered the railway station, taking in the dark scenery he stood in. The werewolf suddenly became less interested in him.

Derek, unable to wait any longer, spoke. "What do you want?"

The Original looked back at him. "Well, first," he said, curtly. "I expect you not to speak until I say so. Second, I expect respect from you…" The Original darkly stared at Derek. "Third, you should know when to kneel in the presence of us."

Derek, his eyes not wavering from the Original, knelt down. The Originals seemed satisfied.

"Get up," ordered the Original.

Derek did so, but he didn't do it out of respect. He wished that the Original would leave, but he could sense the Original came here for one thing and he wasn't going to leave until he had it.

"So, Derek," spoke the Original. "I see your promotion to Alpha hasn't helped your living accommodations."

Derek blinked. "How did—."

"I've known you since you were in diapers," said the Original. "You, however, obviously seem not to recognize me."

Derek shook his head. "No, but I know what you are."

The Original smiled. "Most people can tell," he said, becoming serious. "Anyway, all you need to know is that you need to come with me."

Derek straightened his shoulders back. "And, if I decline?"

The Original shrugged half-heartily. "It wouldn't make much of a difference."

Derek unleashed his claws and his wolf nature. He charged at the Original, his claws ready to slash the Original's throat. The Original saw it coming. He quickly dodged Derek's assault by leaning back. Then, the Original grabbed the Alpha and swung him backwards. Derek flew and crashed into the train, the steel bending underneath his weight.

The Original strode forward, glaring down at the Alpha. "And you consider yourself an Alpha," he said. "Come on. I thought the Hale werewolves were strong?"

Derek leapt out of the train and tried his mark again. The Original spun out of grasp and kicked deep into Derek's chest and into the stairs. Derek landed hard on the edges of the stairs, causing his backbones to crack upon landing.

But, the Alpha got up again, and, this time, he managed to grab hold of the Original. Thinking he had the upper hand, Derek tried to pin the Original down. However, the Original saw the move coming and turned the tables on the Alpha. He slammed the Alpha to the floor with relative ease.

Derek didn't get up. He lay helpless on the floor, tired and weakened by the multiple bones that have broken in his body. He flipped onto his stomach and began to crawl toward the trunk. The Original only watched.

"I can never understand why so many werewolves attempt to fight back?" said the Original. "Don't they know they can't beat an Original?"

Derek finally got to the trunk and tried to unlock it as the Original kept going on his monologue.

"I like you Derek. You don't ever give up," said the Original, then he paused for a moment. "I liked your family too. I'm sorry to hear what happened to them. I really am. Your mother and father were nice people."

Derek's heart clutched at the mention of his deceased parents. He hadn't thought about them in a long time, but just the mention of them, he could remember. He remembered his father, tall and strong with bright blue eyes, always making his mother smile. His mother, dark black hair and hazel eyes, who wooed many men before falling in love with his father. He remembered his father playing tag with Laura and him during the autumn days and he remembered his mother singing him softly to sleep as a little boy when thunderstorms roared above them.

Derek got the trunk opened and grabbed the crossbow. He thanked Isaac for loading it already as he turned around to aim. He switched onto his back and shot the arrow. But, to his horror, the Original caught it before it was even close to its target.

The Original examined the arrow. "Hints of Mountain Ash," he said, then breaking it with his fingers. "That's old."

The Original kicked the trunk out of Derek's grasp. Derek pushed himself backwards until his aching back rested against the dented train. "What do you want?"

The Original squatted down to Derek's eye level, a look of sympathy in his eyes. "You think I'm going to kill you."

"Isn't that why you're here?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"How much you're willing to help," answered the Original.

Derek coughed and spat out blood. "I don't know anything."

The Original laughed. "Did you just try to lie to me?"

"Maybe."

The Original shook his head, still smiling. "You're a lot like your father," he said. "He was a character as well."

Derek eyed the Original, becoming angrier at the mention of his late father. "What are you going to do with me?"

The Original stopped smiling and turned back to Derek. "Well, I asked politely, but you refused, so, it looks like I'm going to have to do it the hard way."

Derek didn't know what the Original meant by that until he saw the fist come straight at his face. Then, darkness cocooned him.


	15. Chapter 15: Aggregate

**Chapter 15: Aggregate**

Scott and Stiles hurried out of the house, running to the jeep. Stiles turned the engine on, the jeep roaring to life. They sped off into the once quiet street, heading back into the forest where he told his mother he would never go back to.

The jeep's wheels spun into the mud as they approached the old railway station. Stiles hit the brake and Scott jumped out, his wolf senses picking up something unfamiliar.

Stiles got out of the jeep as well, slamming the door closed behind him. "Well? Did you wolf something?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah…come on!"

Scott led the way. Stiles followed closely, carefully planting his feet where Scott put his. As they lowered themselves underground, Scott had a prickly feeling that something bad happened down here since he and Stiles left. He used his heightened senses to examine the area as the friends took one step after the other. Scott could hear Stiles's heart race faster and faster with every forward step they took. It didn't bring Scott any comfort knowing that his best friend wasn't feeling very confident either.

As they came upon the landing, Scott knew his wolf senses were right. Stiles and him stared at the wreckage. The bent train, snapped arrows and broken weapons, and the crumbling pieces of concrete from a fresh concrete crack. Scott edged out into the opened, staring at the one thing he smelled since arriving. Blood.

Stiles look down at the droplets. "Is that—?"

"Blood? Yes," answered Scott. "It's Derek's."

Stiles's face paled slightly as he scanned the area wildly, half expecting a creature to jump him at any moment. His eyes rested on the bent train and noticed a glob of blood there as well.

"This was some rough WWE," said Stiles, gesturing to the train. "Did an Original do this?"

"I-I guess," said Scott. "I'm not sure."

"Maybe we should, uh, leave? You know," said Stiles, "because, you know, they might come back."

Scott moved away from the blood and examined the rest of the surroundings. He sniffed the area to catch the scent of the attacker. Once he managed to deduce the unfamiliar scent from Derek's and his pack's, Scott straightened up.

"Let's go," he said.

Stiles ran out first, Scott following him despite wishing he went first in case the Original werewolf was waiting for them by the opening. Once above ground, Scott sniffed the air and could smell the new scent heading east.

Scott took a few steps in that direction, pausing only to listen. Stiles waited by the jeep, anxious to get out of the forest. He jumped at every noise, spinning around and searching for the source.

"Scott! Come on," he said. "Let's get outta here."

Scott used his wolf vision to see further into the forest. But, nothing appeared in his eyesight range. He turned around. "Whoever attacked Derek," he said, "took him eastward."

Stiles looked in that direction. "So…do we follow?"

Scott opened the jeep door. They both sat inside the jeep, Stiles waiting for Scott to say something.

"Do you remember what Derek told us?"

"He told us a lot of things," answered Stiles. "'Shut up!' 'I'll kill you!' Or, my personal favorite, 'I'm gonna rip your throat out!'"

"I meant where he said the Originals would be," said Scott.

Stiles pondered. "Uh…I remember a mansion of some sort…oh! And a cave."

Scott nodded, remembering those places as well. "Maybe they took him there?"

"You mean the Original took him to their lair?"

"Possibly."

"For what? I thought they're here to kill? Why take him?"

Scott knew why. "They figured since he's the Alpha, he'd know what's going on."

Stiles blinked. "They're trying to get information."

"Exactly," said Scott. "About the kanima, the hunters…even us."

Stiles shot up from his seat. "Us?" he croaked before slumping back down. "Jesus…we're fucked if he rats us out. Take that back…we _are_ fucked."

"Yeah," murmured Scott.

"Unless—."

Scott stared at his friend, his eyes brightening. Scott knew that look. "No…no!"

"Well, if they're as badass as everyone is making them out to be," said Stiles. "Then it won't be too hard for them to find out about you, me, Lydia…Allison."

Scott's heart fell. Stiles had a good point. With Derek as a hostage, the Originals could possibly draw out all sorts of information. Information that would put their friends in jeopardy.

"Wait," said Scott. "Didn't Derek say he was going to protect all of us?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and naively stared at his friend. "You really trust Derek Hale on that? Come on, remember him telling you to break it off with Allison and threatening to kill me? I don't think we are high on his priority list."

Scott agreed. Derek was never fond of his friends, constantly telling him that they were holding him back.

"All right, so what plan is your mind formulating?" asked Scott.

"Right now, all I have is go after him and rescue him," said Stiles. "But, I still haven't figured out the "how" yet."

"Maybe we should get the other pack members?" suggested Scott. "Call Isaac, Erica, Boyd?"

"Or you can sit in the car and drive."

The new voice caused Stiles and Scott to scream and jump. Next to Stiles's window stood Peter Hale.

Stiles quickly locked his doors. Peter Hale stared stupidly at Stiles. "You really think locking your doors is going to prevent me from breaking into your car?"

Stiles's face fell and he quickly looked at Scott for support. Scott glared at Peter. "What are you doing here!?"

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same," Peter said. "Shouldn't you two be _away_?"

"Tried that," said Stiles, "but we found camping didn't suit either of us. So, we came back."

"Stupid decision."

Peter looked in the back seats of the Jeep. Then, he raised his hand and shattered the back seat's window. Scott and Stiles gaped at Peter as he unlocked the door and sat behind them. Stiles glanced from the shattered window to Peter.

"What the hell man!"

"You don't pay for it," snide Peter. "Now, start the car and drive."

Stiles, however, refused. "Get out of my ca—."

Peter grabbed Stiles around the neck. Stiles gripped the werewolf's fingers, trying to pry them off. Scott watched his friend's face turned slightly off-colored. Scott's wolf burst out from his human form and clawed Peter's arm.

Peter let go of Stiles's neck and grabbed Scott's arm, twisting it until he heard the echoing sounds of a bone snapping.

"Now, you're going to drive out of this town," ordered Peter, "or I will kill Stiles."

Stiles rubbed his neck. Wide brown eyes glanced between Peter and Scott, as heavy air came out through Stiles's raw throat.

Scott, cradling his broken arm, growled at Peter. "I won't let you."

Peter smiled. "Even if you _can_ stop me," he said, "you can't stop the Originals from killing him."

Peter leaned forward, glaring at both boys. "Now drive!"

Scott looked over at Stiles and gestured his head to show that Stiles should do as told. Stiles, grumbling, forced the stick forward and the jeep began to ride down the long stretch of road.

Peter leaned back in his seat, his arms folded in front of his chest. Both Scott and Stiles watched him from the rearview mirror. Stiles sat closer to the wheel, his back inches away from the seat rest. His drive was a bit swervy due to his eyes mostly watching Peter than the road.

"Stiles pay attention to the road," said Peter, "or you're gonna kill yourself."

It didn't help entirely, but the jeep stopped swerving as much. Scott craned his head to look back at Peter.

"Why are we leaving? Do you know what happened to Derek?"

Peter slowly nodded. "I do and so do you."

"The Originals."

Peter nodded again. "They need information. Derek, being the Alpha, would know the gist of it all."

"Are they going to kill him?"

"Probably not," answered Peter. "They need him alive, but they can always change their minds."

Scott's stomach quenched. "Are we going to save him?"

"He's fine," said Peter, his voice twanged with annoyance. "At the moment. Besides, this whole thing is _his_ fault. The kanima."

"Doesn't mean he deserves to die," said Scott.

"And it also doesn't mean we should get ourselves killed either," retorted Peter. "Now, Scott, do you have any other brilliant plans that _won't _get us killed?"

Scott glared. "I was thinking about throwing you out of the car."

Peter's eyes darkened, but an amused smile rested on his face. "You can try."

Scott was tempted at the idea, but fearing the possibility of Stiles getting hurt or, worse, killed. His hand gripped the armrest, pressuring it until his claws pierced the leather and into the cotton. Stiles softly groaned.

"Where are we going?" asked Scott to either Stiles or Peter.

"The town next over," said Peter. "I'm meeting someone."

Scott and Stiles gave each other raised eyebrows.

"Who?" asked Scott.

"An old friend," answered Peter.

"Another werewolf friend?" questioned Stiles, "because he's not getting in this jeep," Stiles jerked the wheel to avoid going off the road, then murmured. "I don't need three werewolves jacking up my jeep anymore."

Peter leaned closer to Stiles. "We're werewolves Stiles," he said. "We can still here you even when you mumble."

Stiles shivered away from Peter. "I know," he said defensively. "I wanted you to hear it."

Scott heard his friend's heartbeat rise and he knew that Peter could hear it the lie as well.

Peter, however, pushed the comment aside. "No, he's not a werewolf. Feeling better?"

Stiles glanced in the mirror and sarcastically uttered. "Sure."

Scott turned back to Peter. "Who is this person? Why are we—you—going to see him?"

Peter looked back at Scott. "My business wouldn't usually concern you," he said, "but times have certainly changed."

Peter leaned back, his face serious. "My friend has something that could help us against the Originals."

_**BREAK**_

Derek woke up to someone slapping him in the face. Not brutally, but enough to jolt him out of the darkness. He jumped up on his feet, scanning his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that five people have circled him. The next thing Derek noticed was that he hadn't left the woods. The tall trees towered over him, the dark shadows casting on him, with the moon's light providing some light.

Suddenly, two people broke through the circle. Derek recognized one as the Original that attacked him at his hideout. The other he didn't, but he knew who he was.

The Original Alpha.

The Original Alpha had salt and peppered hair, a prominent chin, and dark brown eyes that Derek had seen before, but on someone else's face. The other Original stood by, watching Derek with interest and wonder.

The Original Alpha strode up, a calm expression upon his face. "Derek Hale, right?"

Derek nodded, but his confidence remained intact.

"I've heard about your family," said the Original Alpha. "I'm sorry to hear about the fire."

Derek huffed. "You're not hear to talk to me about my dead family," he said. "So, please let's cut the chit-chat."

A person from the circle kicked Derek in the back, causing Derek to fall, landing on his face. Derek tried to get up, but got kicked back down, his back bruising.

The Original Alpha raised his hand to stop the attack. He waited for Derek to stand back up.

"Remember," said the Original Alpha, his eyes tinted red. "You're not talking to one of your younger betas."

Derek glared, but he nodded to show that he understood.

The Original Alpha's eyes went back to brown. "Now, Harold here tells me you're an Alpha around here. The only one in fact."

Derek answered with a nod.

"So, of course, you would know about this kanima business."

"I do," said Derek, "but I'm handling it. You don't need—."

"You're handling it?" questioned the Original Alpha. "Well, you're handling it is far different from our definition of handling it."

"We've had a few complications," said Derek, "but, like I said, we're working on it."

"You won't have to," said the Original Alpha. "We're here to do the job that you can't seem to do."

Derek looked at the other Original then back to the Alpha. "You mean kill."

The Original Alpha shrugged half-heartily. "Sometimes you gotta do things you don't want to do to protect the ones you love."

"They're just kids!"

The Original Alpha smiled. "Kids…they usually do the most damage," then added, "along with hunters."

Derek thought of the Argent family. He wouldn't mind the Originals killing them, wiping that family out. But, he remembered Allison. The girl Scott lusts. The idiot boy claims it as love, but Derek truly knew what it was. If Allison died, Scott would blame him and hunt him down. Even if the Originals did the deed, Derek knew Scott would blame him.

The Original Alpha drew out his claws. "Now, Derek, why don't you fill us in?"

Derek eyed the claws, wondering if the Original Alpha was going to strike him or not. After a long moment and watching the Original Alpha's face become graver, Derek spoke.

"The kanima is Jackson Whittmore," he said. "But, his original master was killed a few days ago. As of know, it's possible Jackson is no longer the kanima. We haven't been able to test out the theory yet."

The Original Alpha laughed and so did the others surrounding him. "Killing the master doesn't kill the beast within," said the Original Alpha. "It will seek a new one…and when that one's gone, it'll find another. There's only one way to stop a kanima…"

The claws on the Original Alpha grew longer. He raised his hands to the light, his dark long nails scratching the air.

The Original Alpha waited until his got Derek's attention again. He cocked his head, a withering smile falling from his lips. He stepped closer to the Alpha and narrowed his eyes.

"Your heartbeat," said the Original Alpha. "It's running…I can hear it." He paused and listened. Then, he looked over his shoulder back at the other Original before turning back to Derek. "You're not telling us something. Something important."

Derek shook his head. "No…I told you everything."

His claim didn't convince the Original Alpha. The Original Alpha struck his claws into the back of Derek's neck, digging into his skin. Derek scream in the pain, dropping to his knees as images of his life flashed through him. He tried to stop the memories from coming, trying his best to put up a blockade, but it failed.

After a brief moment that seemed hours for Derek, the Original Alpha pulled out his claws. Derek fell to the floor, gasping and gingerly touching the back of his neck. He could feel blood oozing from the wounds. His fingertips became coated with blood.

Derek glanced up at the Original Alpha. The Original Alpha's face wrinkled in fury. Red-hot anger leapt into his eyes as a beard began to prickle up along his jaw line. His clothes stretched and threads sprung out. His breathing became ragged and heavy with rage.

The Original Alpha growled. "Argents…"


	16. Chapter 16: Ammunition

**Chapter 16: Ammunition**

Once arriving in Niland, Peter gave Stiles driving instructions around the small town. Stiles maneuvered through until arriving outside a shack-like home. The panels, paint-picked and splintering, looked unpleasant to the eyes. Stiles stared with his mouth agape; shockingly surprised that this was ultimate destination.

"This isn't where he lives is it?"

Peter nodded. "Yep," he said, leaning over the front seats. He grabbed the jeep keys, ripping them out of the engine, and pocketing them. "Now, let's go."

Stiles cried. "My jeep!"

Peter got out of the jeep and pulled Stile's door opened. Stiles jumped as Peter lifted him out of the driver's seat. Scott jumbled out of his seat and ran over to Stiles's side as his friend tried to get out of Peter's grasp.

Peter let go of him and ushered the two boys to go toward the shack. Stiles kept close to Scott, but Scott felt vulnerable as Peter stood behind them, walking toward a rickety front door. When they got to the door, Peter pushed them aside and knocked.

Moments later, the door cracked up and bright eyes appeared. "Whaddya want?"

"Hello there, Xander," said Peter.

The eyes widened. "Peter? Is that you?"

Peter nodded and the eyes narrowed at the other visitors. "Who are they?"

"Some friends," answered Peter. "We need your expertise."

The eyes lingered on Scott and Stiles for a long moment before the stranger named Xander opened it wide enough for the three to enter. Peter ushered Scott and Stiles to enter first. Uneasily, the two boys stepped into the darkness; their hearts beating unsteadily fast.

Stiles murmured to Scott. "This isn't how I wanted to die."

"I didn't know you planned your death," uttered Scott.

Lights burst around them. Scott and Stiles snapped their eyes closed and winced at the cruelty the light brought them. Peter and Xander didn't even blink. When the two boys opened their eyes to see a twinge like structure of a man with wild black hair and glassy gray eyes.

Xander closed the door. "It's good to know you're alive, Peter," he said, gesturing to the sofa for his visitors to sit.

Peter, Scott, and Stiles took the seat on the sofa with Scott in the middle. Xander rushed into the kitchen, carrying out Miller Lite beers. He handed one to each of his visitor, uncaring that the two boys were only teenagers. Stiles and Scott cautiously looked at the beers.

'They're just beers," ensured Xander.

Stiles grabbed it quickly and Scott took his as well, but didn't drink it. Stiles popped it opened and chugged, much to Scott's surprise.

Xander settled down in the opposite chair, cracking open his beer. He took a long drink and settled comfortably. "So, what brings you to old Xander?"

Peter set his beer down. "I need the bullets."

Xander cocked his eyebrow. "Bullets? Sure, yeah, I got wolfsbane, mountain ash…"

"Not those bullets."

Again, Xander looked confused. "Peter—I have no idea what you're talking about."

Peter picked up his beer again and dragged his fingernail across the glass. The piercing sound of scratched glass painfully drummed on everyone's eardrums. Stiles and Scott covered their ears to the best of their ability, but they still cringed at the sound.

Peter stopped and the alcohol flowed through the cracks and onto the floor. "Again, Xander, I need _the _bullets."

Xander nodded and went to the opposite side of the room. Scott and Stiles craned their necks to see what he was doing. Xander pushed aside a rug to reveal a trap door. He pulled the trap door opened and climbed down, disappearing from their view. Scott glanced to Peter, who gave the young werewolf a quick smile.

Then, they heard Xander come back up. He returned to his seat, revealing a locked box. He rested it on the table.

"I don't know where the key is," Xander mumbled, "but it could be in my drawer. Just wait for a minute…"

Peter whipped out his claws and slashed the lock opened. Xander just stared. "That would work also."

Xander opened the box, revealing five bullets. Peter examined the contents with interest and greed. Xander stared at his collection with concern and guilt.

"So, they've come to Beacon Hills?"

"Yes," answered Peter.

Stiles glanced over the contents. "They're bullets," he said. "We came all the way out here for bullets?"

Peter and Xander looked at him stupidly.

"These aren't just bullets, boy," said Xander. "They were forged in Gévaudan!"

Stiles and Scott stared with blank faces.

Xander looked ghastly at the two boys, slightly making Scott feel ashamed that he didn't know. Xander stuttered to Peter, who remained calmed and unsurprised by the revelation.

Xander barked angrily at Peter. "Who are these two kids?"

Peter waved his hand. "None of your concern," he said, reaching for the box. "I need these."

Xander pulled the box away from him. "What are you planning to do?" he asked. "You can't just go around killing them? That won't—."

A shadow casted over Peter's eyes. Scott and Stiles scooted away and Xander gulped. Peter stood up, standing eye to eye with Xander. The collector backed away as Peter stepped closer. The werewolf lured over Xander, his eyes turning brighter.

"Boys," said Peter to Stiles and Scott. "Why don't you wait outside?"

Scott shook his head. "We're not going anywhere."

Peter snarled at the two boys. Stiles jumped up and nearly tripped over himself to get away from the werewolf. Scott, however, didn't move.

"I'm not going to let you kill him!"

Peter sneered at Scott. Then, without warning, Peter grabbed Scott by the shirt and threw him across the room. Scott crashed through the wall and landed with a thud on the gravel driveway.

Pain erupted all around Scott. His back, bruised and possibly broken, left him crumpled on the ground. Groaning and slightly rolling side to side, Scott could hear Stiles calling his name, cries of horror, and the sound of feet running through the gravel.

Scott blinked and Stiles appeared by his side, his face paled. "Scott! Buddy, are you okay?"

"No," he said, "We gotta stop Peter…"

Suddenly, Peter appeared behind Stiles. Peter picked Stiles off the ground and shoved him toward the jeep. Then, he lifted Scott and Scott noticed Peter carrying the box.

"You didn't kill him did you? For those stupid bullets!"

Peter didn't answer. He led Scott to the Jeep, opening the back door. Peter chucked Scott into the back and took to the driver's seat. Stiles wanted to join his friend in the back, but Scott took up the whole back as he lay broken and moaning.

"Shit…" Stiles took the passenger seat. "You better not screw up my Jeep again or I swear—."

Stiles's threat was cut short as Peter hit the accelerator and drove away from the ruined shack. Each minute, Scott felt less pain and after ten minutes, he could sit up. Stiles had a watchful eye on Peter, ready to leap out of the jeep if an attack came about. Scott stared at the box in the middle.

Scott arched over, rubbing his back gingerly. "Did you kill him?"

Peter looked in the mirror. "Jesus, kid, how many times do I have to tell you. I only kill the guilty ones."

"Yeah," said Stiles. "Like our janitor because he was guilty of not waxing the floors twice a week."

Peter frowned. "I like you better when you weren't talking."

"Did you kill him?" repeated Scott through his gritted teeth.

Peter let out an annoyance sigh. "I just roughed him up a little for his disobedience."

Scott jerked forward, but winced, falling back against the seat. Peter chuckled.

"Easy there Scott," he said. "Broken bones don't heal as fast as cuts."

Scott glowered at Peter before turning to the bullets. "What's Gévaudan?"

Peter drove around the bend sharply, causing Stiles to launch himself to the armrest. Scott slid in his seat a little, sending a big spike of pain along his spine.

"I'm surprised you didn't research your heritage Scoot," said Peter. "Then again, you were never good at your studies."

Scott growled and wanted to strike Peter in the back, but he was too weak to do it.

"Gévaudan is a French city," said Peter, "It's where your family is from. It's where the Originals originated. Your heritage started in that town."

"So…those bullets…they can kill the Originals?"

"Yep. They are the only weapons that can kill an Original."

"Will it kill werewolves like you?"

"Of course," said Peter. "But, that's not the plan."

The revelation burned Scott's insides. He stared at those bullets with an unsettling composure. "You're going to kill my father!"

Peter's eyes lifted to the mirror again to see Scott. "I thought you didn't like your father?"

"I don't," said Scott, "but that doesn't mean I want him dead."

Peter nodded with understanding. "Yes, well, I'm not here to kill your father or any of your other relatives."

Scott blinked. "Then, what are you going to use them for?"

A smirk played on Peter's lips. "You'll find out…later."

_**BREAK**_

Derek jolted awake. His eyes drew back as the night sky twinkled above him, the wind howling him to wake up. Derek sat up, looking around him. He wasn't where he last remembered. In fact, he had returned back to the railway station. All the Originals and their servants were gone, having dropped him off.

He breathed heavily, searching around to make sure no one was ordered to stay behind and stalk him to ensure he wouldn't cause any trouble. As he switched to his wolf vision, a blaring vehicle light glowed in front of him. Quickly, Derek rolled, narrowly dodging the front wheels.

He heard doors opening and closing. Then, he smelled them and heard their unsteady heartbeats.

Someone skidded next to him and Derek saw those familiar brown eyes. "Derek? Are you okay?"

Derek blinked, holding hid hand up to block the light. He saw the figure of two young people standing before him. His eyes focused and he saw Scott and Stiles staring down at him.

Derek pushed himself off the ground, dusting off his jacket sleeves. "I'm fine."

"Then why do you have blood dripping down your neck?" questioned Stiles.

Derek reached behind his neck and his fingertips touched the wounds the Original Alpha caused. He winced and witnessed the blood. Derek cursed.

Another door opened and Derek looked back to the jeep to see his uncle walking toward the group. Derek snarled at the unwanted presence.

"I thought you were going to hit the road?" barked Derek.

Peter looked generally hurt by the accusation. "Already did," he said. "The boys and I took a quick road trip."

Derek shot back to Scott and Stiles and noticed the exhaustion on Scott's face and the quiet fear in Stiles's eyes.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," said Peter and he revealed the box to Derek. "But, I got what we needed."

He opened the box and showed Derek the contents inside. Derek loomed over and saw the five silver bullets. He immediately drew back, his nose wrinkled. Peter laughed and closed the box shut.

"Don't worry," he said. "The smell can't kill you."

Derek rubbed his nose to remove the smell. "So, what are you going to do with them?"

Peter pocketed the box in his jacket. "I'll deal with it."

Derek gave a questionably stare at his uncle. Peter sighed. "Trust me, I'll take care of it."

Peter walked back to the road, his coat whipping behind him. Stiles ran forward. "What about my jeep?"

Peter stopped. He gave a long look at Stiles. Then, he stuck his hand in his pocket and jingled the keys in his hands. With a smile, he flicked the keys into the woods and disappeared on the road.

Stiles cursed after him. Gruntingly, Stiles began his for the keys in the area where they land while Scott and Derek watched him. Scott and Derek could hear him cussing about the other werewolf.

Scott turned to Derek. "I should help him."

Derek stopped him. "What did Peter do?"

"The usual," he said. "Kidnapping, threatening, and injuring innocents." Scott sighed heavily. "And he gets what he wants in the end."

Derek shook his head, but didn't say anything for a long moment. "Did you see what was in the box?"

Scott nodded. "Bullets to kill an Original. To kill my family."

"I'm sorry, Scott," said Derek and Scott could feel a tingle of actual empathy in the older werewolf. "But, it's to protect—."

"I get it," said Scott, "but it doesn't mean I approve of it. I won't let you kill any more people! Even if they are Originals."

"You were willing to kill my uncle."

"That's because he was a murdering psycho! Killing innocents for kicks."

Derek huffed and shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes angrily brooding at Scott. "And you think your family don't?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, but your heart said otherwise," said Derek, sourly. "You want to believe so badly that you don't come from a lineage of cold-hearted monsters. News-flash, Scott! You are."

Scott's heartbeat raced. His chest heaved up and down quickly. Sounds of foliage being folded and smashed to the ground surrounded them as Stiles continued searching alone for his keys, holding his cell phone to the ground.

"Hey guys?" called Stiles. "Could you help me here?"

Neither of the werewolves went over. The two continued to glare at each other.

"You're family are killers just like other werewolves," continued Derek. "In fact, they are the ones that did this to me!"

Derek pulled his shirt slightly down to reveal the puncture wounds. "So, don't tell me that we can't kill them when they attack! They aren't innocent. They kill anyone that gets in their way."

Scott looked away from Derek, turning his back to the werewolf. His breathing slowed as his heart soon dropped to his stomach, burning from the stomach acids. Scott's shoulders fell down, still hearing Stiles calling for help in searching for his lost keys.

Derek rubbed his forehead. "Sorry Scott," he said. "I-I didn't mean to snap at you."

"Yeah you did," grunted Scott.

"Well, a little bit," said Derek. "But, I was just…angry, but not at you. Your family. They aren't exactly the friendly type."

Scott looked over his shoulder and at Derek. "Peter said they just wanted to talk."

"And a little more," said Derek, looking directly at Scott's eyes. "By the way, you have your grandfather's eyes."

Scott blinked. "I-I do?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah, you do."

Scott always thought that his eyes came from his mother. It seemed weird to him that he shared similar features with the Original Alpha. He never would have guessed that his dark eyes came down through his werewolf lineage rather than his human lineage.

Scott kicked the ground, chunks of dirt and dead leaves flickering up. "So, what did they want?"

"Information."

"About the kanima?"

"And about the other werewolves I created around here."

"Is that all?"

Derek pondered for a moment. "Well—."

Scott didn't smile. He suddenly looked very concerned at the wounds on the back of Derek's neck. "Those wounds," he said. "What…I had those similar wounds before. When Peter showed me the fire."

Scott came closer to Derek. "What did they show you?"

"They didn't show me anything," said Derek. "They, uh, they were searching through my memories because they wanted to know what I was hiding."

Scott stared suspiciously at him. "What were you hiding?"

"You of course," responded Derek, angrily. 'That's my job isn't?"

Scott's face paled. "Did you tell them? Do they know? Is my mom in danger? Derek what did you say?!"

"Calm down," said Derek, unable to catch a mush of what Scott said. "Relax. That's not what they learned."

Scott cocked his eyebrows. "Then…what did they find out?"

Suddenly, Derek's face fell into troubled realization. His lips parted and his blue eyes flared. Scott waited impatiently, calling Derek's name in hopes he would snap out of the horror revelation.

Derek looked back down at the young werewolf. "The Argents," he said. "They know they're here."

Scott's heart stopped. He spun around and looked in the direction of Allison's house. "Allison…"

Stiles came jumping out of the darkness, a frown upon his face. His keys were clutched in his hand. "Thanks for the help you two," he said, sarcastically. "But, I found them."

Scott ran past Stiles to get to the jeep. Stiles stared wildly at his friend. "Hey, Scott?"

"No time Stiles!" cried Scott. "We gotta go!"

"What?" asked Stiles, glancing back at Derek, "Go where?"

"To Allison's house!" shouted Scott, his heart beating like never before. It almost felt like it was going to burst through his ribcage. "She's in danger!"


	17. Chapter 17: Action

**Chapter 17: Action**

"Come on…come on…"

Allison didn't answer her phone and Scott slammed it closed. He rushed his fingers through his hair irritably.

"She's not answering!" Scott cried. "Can't you go any faster?"

"I'm going nearly 80 miles," said Stiles as the wheels squealed when they turned. Stiles glanced worriedly at his stressed friend. "Don't worry Scott. They're hunters."

"But they're going up against the Originals!" said Scott. "Look at Derek! He's a werewolf and they managed to beat him. Allison—they're just humans."

Stiles gritted his teeth and pushed down on the accelerator more. "All right," he said. "Hang on!"

They sped through the town. Scott kept dialing Allison's cell phone, but received no answer. Stiles advised him to call their house phone.

"I don't have her house phone."

Stiles looked startled at him. "You don't?"

"No," said Scott. "Even if she did, her father would change it immediately."

Stiles thought and then nodded in agreement. "Yeah…he never really liked you."

Scott didn't find his friend's sarcasm amusing. They drove into the posh neighborhood that Allison resided. Scott sat near the edge of his seat, awaiting for her house to appear, expecting it to be consumed in fire.

However, as they turned the corner, the house remained standing. Lights glowed through the windows of the first floor and in a few on the second floor. Scott looked only at the Allison's window and saw that her lights were on and he could see the ceiling fan spinning.

Stiles parked and Scott jumped out of the jeep. He didn't search the area or check to see if anyone was watching him and Stiles. Scott darted forward, climbing up the rain gutter to Allison's bedroom. Stiles was right behind him, standing down below as Scott looked through the bedroom window.

"Is she there?" asked Stiles.

Scott saw Allison laying on her bed, looking through a photo album. She didn't even noticed Scott outside her window.

"Scott?"

Scott looked back down at Stiles. "She's all right," he said, "but that doesn't mean they aren't coming."

Stiles glanced around, eyeing everything nearby like an enemy. Then, a rustled and swishing sound captured Scott's ears.

"Scott?"

Scott spun around to see Allison's head out the window. Her eyes were nearly slits as she looked straight at Scott with defense. Scott climbed closer to her window, thinking she would let him in, but she didn't budge.

"Allison!" said Scott. "I've been trying to call you?"

"I've noticed," said Allison, waving her phone in front of him. "Nine calls in five minutes?"

"Why didn't you pick up?" barked Scott.

Allison looked crossed. "Did you ever think that I didn't answer because I didn't want to talk to you?"

Scott blinked. "What? Why?"

Allison's face flushed. "Why? _Why_? Maybe because my mother was killed by Derek!"

"What? Derek?" Scott thought Stiles and everyone told him that Mrs. Argent committed suicide.

Allison crossed her arms. "What? He didn't tell you that he killed my mom?"

Scott took a step back, looking bewildered. "I thought she committed suicide?"

"So she wouldn't turn into a _werewolf_!"

"But Derek—."

Allison shook her head frustratingly. "Of course! You…don't call me Scott. Just…don't!"

Allison slammed her window closed and pulled the curtains together to keep Scott from looking inside. Scott thought about knocking, but pulled back. He could hear the rest of the Argents downstairs, well alive. So far, the Originals have not attacked yet.

Scott jumped off the roof next to Stiles. His friend had witnessed the break-up and didn't pester Scott or try to make him feel better. He left his best friend have a moment to himself.

The two headed toward the car, Scott dragging his feet with his head bowed. He had never felt so much anger directed at him by Allison before. It was almost close to _hate_. Stiles unlocked the jeep and Scott grabbed the handle, but stop.

He directed his head up, sniffing the air. They were here.

Stiles noticed his friend's strained facial expression. "Scott…"

Scott scanned the area, searching with his wolf eyes for the Originals. He couldn't find them. They were hiding, but still close by. Scott walked out onto the road, following the scent.

Stiles stared quizzically at his friend. "Scott?"

"Just stay here," said Scott. "I'm just going to check out something."

Scott followed the scent, leaving Stiles alone by the Jeep. Scott could hear the jeep's doors opened and slam shut. Stiles had locked himself inside his vehicle. Scott crept through neighbors' yards, going from brush to brush to avoid the human eyes from spotting him.

Scott finally arrived to a vast greenway, lain between houses and the forest. The scent led toward the forest, but it was strong that he knew that they had to be hiding by the forests' entry. Scott narrowed his eyes to see if any people were hiding in the tree lines. He walked further onto the green, cautiously approaching the forest's edge.

Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate to hear any heartbeats. He heard several and they were close by. Very close.

Scott opened his eyes to see a person standing in his path.

He stopped; looking around him to notice two others surrounded him. Scott measured each werewolf before him. They all seemed stronger than him. Their greedy eyes laughed at him and their smirks cockily told Scott that they did not think highly of him.

The one in front of him seemed to be the boss and he approached Scott with a whimsical smile on his face.

"Another beta," he said. "How many are there of you?"

Scott stood defiantly, not wanting to back down. The boss was not pleased. He snapped his fingers and the two werewolves grabbed both sides of his body, holding him from escaping.

The boss stalked over, his eyes resting heavily on Scott's face. "When I ask a question," he said, "it's best you answer if you want to avoid something you'd regret."

"But, since you seem new to this whole thing," said the boss. "I'll let it slide just this once. Now, answer my question."

Scott gritted his teeth. "Enough."

The boss darkly chuckled. "Cheeky one aren't you? Must be a member of the Hale pack."

Scott frowned at the werewolf. "You're an Original, aren't you?"

The boss smiled. "So the good wolf told you about us?" he said. "Yes, I'm Harvey."

Scott examined Harvey's face. He noticed the similarities between the Original and his father. They had the same shade of dark, but Harvey's was wilder than Scott could remember of his father's. They had similar expressions of satisfaction, the way their lips crooked to the right side of their faces.

Yet, Harvey could not tell he was standing before his nephew.

"So, young cub," said Harvey, "what brings you to me?"

"You came to kill my friends."

Harvey chuckled. "Your friends? What friends? Your fellow werewolves?"

"No! My _real_ friends!" said Scott, forgetting that Harvey was an Original. "You were about to attack the Argents. You were on your way to kill them!"

Harvey paused and looked at Scott very closely. Scott could see that the Original was pondering what to do with him. In fact, he also seemed shocked to learn that Scott, a werewolf, was a friend of hunters.

After a long paused, he made his decision. "You hang around with the wrong company, young cub," he said. "But, if you insist to get in our way—."

"I won't let you hurt them!" stated Scott, defiantly.

Harvey let out a long sigh. "Well, sorry dear cub," he said, "but you have sealed your fate." The Original looked at his two guards. "Kill him."

The eager guards kicked Scott to the ground as if to kill him begging on his knees. However, neither of them expected him to fight back. Scott swung onto his back and kicked the guard on his left in the stomach, sending him yards away. The other guard charged forward, but Scott jumped up, dodging the charge and punching the guard in the back. The guys back broke and he crumpled to the ground in a high pitch scream.

The other guard came rushing back, swinging his arms at Scott. The young werewolf jumped to the side and slammed his clawed fist into the guard's chest. The werewolf roared and swung. The fist slammed into the side of Scott's face. Scott spun to the right, spit flying from his mouth.

The guard grinned as he saw Scott stagger away, rubbing his reding face. The guard approached, stalking him. He was ready to kill him. Scott, however, didn't surrender. He did a surprised charged; tossing the guard into the air and watching him land on his back with a deafening crack.

Scott turned to face the Original, his uncle.

Harvey stood, mildly impressed at Scott's ability. But, he brought out his own claws. "The Hale's must have trained you well."

"I wouldn't give them the credit," mumbled Scott, his jaw line covered in werewolf hair.

Scott lunged at Harvey, but the Original deflect it with ease. He struck his claws into Scott's back. Scott cried out, feeling the painful sensation along his spinal cord again. He jerked out of Harvey's grasp, blood leaking from the new wounds. Scott didn't pay any heed though. His concentration remained on Harvey.

Harvey gestured Scott to come after him again. Scott charged again, but Harvey plunged his fist into Scott's stomach and then flipped him over, slamming the young werewolf to the hard ground.

Scott winced in pain and his werewolf hair fading. He was now back to his human self. Panting, Scott looked up to see Harvey standing over him.

Harvey shook his head. "For such a young cub," he said, "you're very strong."

Scott didn't respond, but his chest rose up and down quickly. His heartbeat increased as he laid defeated and injured.

Harvey displayed his claws in front of Scott's face. "Such a shame," he said, staring disappointingly at Scott. "Ah, well, you should have stayed away."

As Harvey ready to plunge his claws to Scott's throat, a whirling sound of a bullet flew past him and punctured into the Original's shoulder. A dark smoked emitted from the new wound and the Original backed away from Scott, clutching the wound.

"What is this…mountain ash," growled Harvey.

Another gunshot erupted and hit the Original again in the right arm. The Original cursed, but fled, leaving Scott alive. The other werewolves ran off after their boss. Scott craned his head back to see Stiles about a few yards away, a smoking shotgun raised.

"Stiles!" croaked Scott.

Stiles hurried to Scott, laying his gun down on the ground. "Scott! Are you okay? Can you walk?"

Stiles helped Scott up. Scott nodded, by cringed at the pain along his pack. Stiles examined Scott's back. "Jesus…okay, come on," he said. "We need to visit your boss."

Stiles led Scott away from the greenway, holding the shotgun ready in case the Original or the other werewolves returned to finish the fight.

Scott clung onto his best friend. "Thank you, Stiles. Thank you."

Stiles heaved his friend up. "Yeah, well, I might not be a werewolf," he said, "but I'm hell of a badass human."

Scott laughed, nodding. "Yeah you are."

_**BREAK**_

Harold remained close to the Original Alpha, staring at the sleepy town of Beacon Hills. His little brother should almost be done finishing off the Argents. Once they returned, they could finish their mission and go on their way.

"Cette nuit tranquille," said the Original Alpha. "Était-ce toujours ce calme?"

Harold nodded. "Très calme et très terne."

The Original Alpha smiled. "Pas tout à fait terne que par le passé."

"Pas avec le kanima autour," agreed Harold.

"Bientôt, il sera de retour à son état original de la paix."

Harold was about to respond when a sound of a gunshot entered their ears. The Original Alpha and Harold became alert, looking in the direction they heard it come from. Harold stepped down from his spot, listening closely.

The other werewolves with them waited for orders to go and investigate, but the Original Alpha raised hand. They waited with baited breath. They heard another gunshot. Harold looked back at the Alpha.

"Je vais vérifier," said Harold, walking across to go toward the sound.

Moments later, Harold saw Harvey run into the clearing, leaning over, clutching his shoulder. Harold could smell blood. He rushed over to his brother, putting his arm around his brother to help him walk toward the Alpha.

The Original Alpha came to Harvey's side, examining the two wounds. His mouth thinned. "Qui a fait ça? Les Argents?"

Harvey, slightly off-colored and shaking, spoke. "Non, c'était un loup-garou ... un betta," he said, shuddering. "Et un être humain."

Harold and the Original Alpha looked at each other. Then, Harold looked back down at his baby brother. "Doucement frère," he said smoothly. "Etes-vous sûr?"

Harvey nodded furiously. "Le loup-garou ... il était fort. Trop fort pour une version beta," he said. "L'homme avait une arme."

Harvey looked up at the Original Alpha, waiting for him to give the orders.

The Original Alpha snapped his fingers. "L'emmener à l'Deaton," he ordered. "Il peut obtenir ces balles sur."

Harold lifted his brother and barked at two werewolves to come with him. As Harold lifted his baby brother up, refusing any help. Harvey clung onto Harold's jacket. "Vais-je mourir?"

Harold gave a small laugh. "Non, c'est juste frère sorbier peu," he said, combing back his brother's wild hair. "Vous ne pouvez pas mourir de cendres montagne."

"C'est comme si je meurs d'envie. Il blesse comme l'enfer."

Harold brought his brother closer to him. "Il le ferait. Ne vous inquiétez pas," Harold's voice serious. "Nous allons tuer le loup-garou et son acolyte de l'homme pour sa trahison."

English Version:

Harold remained close to the Original Alpha, staring at the sleepy town of Beacon Hills. His little brother should almost be done finishing off the Argents. Once they returned, they could finish their mission and go on their way.

"Such a quiet night," said the Original Alpha. "Was it always this quiet?"

Harold nodded. "Very quite and very dull."

The Original Alpha smiled. "Not quite dull as it once was."

"Not with the kanima around," agreed Harold.

"Soon, it will be back to its original state of peace."

Harold was about to respond when a sound of a gunshot entered their ears. The Original Alpha and Harold became alert, looking in the direction they heard it come from. Harold stepped down from his spot, listening closely.

The other werewolves with them waited for orders to go and investigate, but the Original Alpha raised hand. They waited with baited breath. They heard another gunshot. Harold looked back at the Alpha.

"I will check it out," said Harold, walking across to go toward the sound.

Moments later, Harold saw Harvey run into the clearing, leaning over, clutching his shoulder. Harold could smell blood. He rushed over to his brother, putting his arm around his brother to help him walk toward the Alpha.

The Original Alpha came to Harvey's side, examining the two wounds. His mouth thinned. "Who did this? The Argents?"

Harvey, slightly off-colored and shaking, spoke. "Not, it was a werewolf…a beta," he said, shuddering. "And a human."

Harold and the Original Alpha looked at each other. Then, Harold looked back down at his baby brother. "Easy brother," he said smoothly. "Are you sure?"

Harvey nodded furiously. "The werewolf...he was strong. To strong to be a beta," he said. "The human had a gun."

Harvey looked up at the Original Alpha, waiting for him to give the orders.

The Original Alpha snapped his fingers. "Get him to the Deaton," he ordered. "He can get those bullets out."

Harold lifted his brother and barked at two werewolves to come with him. As Harold lifted his baby brother up, refusing any help. Harvey clung onto Harold's jacket. "Am I dying?"

Harold gave a small laugh. "No. It's just mountain ash little brother," he said, combing back his brother's wild hair. "You can't die from Mountain ash."

"It feels like I'm dying. It hurts like hell."

Harold brought his brother closer to him. "It would. Don't worry," Harold's voice serious. "We'll kill the werewolf and its human sidekick for its treachery."


	18. Chapter 18: Assuage

**Chapter 18: Assuage**

Morning sunrise highlighted the horizon, glazing the ground with dew. Birds chirped alarmingly and annoyingly as they woke to the cold. The blue hazy sky gave no warm feeling and tinted the scenery gray. Nature refreshed its scent, welcoming healthy lungs to fresh air.

Only thing disturbing the morning's beauty was a speeding jeep. Stiles and Scott quickly arrived at the vet's office. They parked in the back and Stiles half carried Scott to the back doors. Scott's condition didn't change. Blood kept seeping through the wounds, staining his shirt. Stiles unlocked the door using the hideout key. He led Scott to the examine table, helping him up.

Scott groaned and winced as he fell onto the table. Scott had called his boss to inform him of the injury and the need for medical assistance. Deaton promised to be there as soon as he could. Meanwhile, he talked to Stiles through the phone, giving the teenager instructs to clean the wounds. Stiles did the best he could, but Scott wished Deaton would hurry over.

When Deaton finally arrived, Stiles was relieved of his duty, but willing to assist the vet in curing Scott. Deaton examined the wounds, sadly clicking his tongue at the ugliness of the wounds.

"The Original was trying to kill you," said Deaton. "But, he didn't know that the two of you are related."

"Why?" panted Scott "Is that good? Being related?"

Deaton nodded, inserting some liquid into his veins. "It saved your life."

The liquid medicine stung, but Scott swallowed the pain. Stiles watched intently waiting to the wounds to heal magically and quickly. To his disappointment, nothing happened.

"Why is it not healing?" asked Stiles.

"Because it takes time to heal from a Original wound," said Deaton. "If another werewolf had this wound, they would be dead in a few hours."

"So…I'm lucky?" said Scott, his voice strained.

Deaton nodded. "Lucky enough. Could have been worse. He could have killed you the other way."

Scott gulped, remembering how Derek had killed his uncle the previous December.

Deaton put a washcloth underneath running water. "So…here's a question."

Scott looked up at Deaton. "What?"

Deaton rested his hands on the table. "Why were you facing an Original?"

"They were going after the Argents," answered Stiles. "We tried to stop them."

"We? Tried?"

"They got away," said Stiles. "But, I shot him with a Mountain Ash bullet," Stiles held up two fingers. "Twice."

Deaton's face became alarmed. "Mountain Ash?"

Stiles and Scott looked warily at each other. "Why? What's wrong?"

Deaton looked out the window, quickly turning back to Scott and Stiles. "Come on," he said, hurrying to Scott's side. "You need to get out. They'll be coming here soon."

"The Originals?"

Deaton nodded as he lifted Scott off the table. He passed Scott to Stiles. "Hurry, through the back door. I'll distract them enough so the two of you can get out."

Stiles quickly led Scott through the back as they heard the front doors chimed. Stiles and Scott exited out of the door. They hurried (to Scott's best attempt) to the jeep. Stile started the engine as Deaton came face to face with Harold and Harvey.

_**BREAK**_

"Harold? Harvey?" said Dr. Deaton surprised. "What brings you to my office?"

Harold revealed two bullet wounds planted in his brother's shoulder and arm. Deaton examined the wounds with a shake of his head. With a nod of his head, Deaton led the two werewolves and their security to the examine room.

Harold placed his younger brother onto the metal table, but his senses perked up. He looked back at the vet. "Is someone else here?"

Deaton shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

Harold turned toward the back doors with a speculative stare. "Don't mind if I check it out?"

Deaton's eyebrows rose a bit, but went back to a relax state. "No," he said. "Go on ahead."

Harold patted his brother's hand and he walked through the double doors, down the hallway. He heard dogs barking as he approached and cats hissing. But, that did not bother him. It was the smell. Not from the dogs or the cats. It smelled like a werewolf. An injured werewolf.

He followed the scent, leading him to the backdoors. He burst the doors opened, but the back lot was empty. Harold walked to the spot where Stiles' jeep once parked. He stood in the middle of the spot, using his senses. Then, he caught it. The other scent. The scent the werewolf scent covered. It was human. Definitely human. In fact, he smelt the scent before a long time.

With one more search among the premise, Harold marched back to the examine room. Deaton was slowly pulling the last bullet out of his brother's arm. When Harold returned, Deaton looked up, anxiety expressed in his eyes.

Harold didn't say anything. He stood next to his brother's side and watched the vet tend to the wounds. Deaton added the applied cream and Harvey's skin healed to completion.

Deaton moved to throw away the bullets, but Harold stopped him. "Let me take one," he said and pocketed the bullet. "Harvey, you feeling better?"

Harvey rolled off the examine table. Deaton went to him, checking his pulse. Harvey shooed him away. "I'm fine. Better," he said. 'Thank you."

Harvey fixed his jacket. "Well, Dr. Deaton," he said. "Looks like you still got it."

Deaton gave a tight smile. "Well, I've been practicing for some years."

Harvey laughed and clapped the vet's back. "Father always said you were the best. Didn't he, Harry?"

Harold nodded. "Yes, he did."

Harold didn't look at his brother. His focus lay on the vet. Harvey didn't noticed. He was too busy with his freedom of pain to pay any attention to the stare-off between his brother and his savior. Harvey headed to the door.

"Come on Harry," he said, as the guards moving toward the exit as well. "Harry?"

Harold waved his brother off. "Actually, I'm going to stay here and have a chat with the good vet."

Harvey arched one eyebrow, glancing at the vet. "You wish for me to stay?"

"Nah," said Harold. "It's an old friend type of chat. Go back and inform the others that you're better."

Harvey shrugged and he and the guards left to return to their headquarters. Harold waited, ensuring that the three were gone out of earshot. Deaton didn't move, but his heart moved viciously inside of him.

Fear.

Harold dragged his finger along the countertop. "So, Deaton," he began. "Who was here before us?"

Deaton acted confused. "W-what? No one. I just came here before you."

Harold picked up a glass vial. He gingerly played with it between his fingers. Then, he snapped it into pieces. The glass sprinkled like a mosaic onto the floor. Not a single droplet of blood appeared on Harold's fingers.

"Stop pretending that I'm an idiot," said Harold. "I can smell their scents."

Deaton didn't jump or even budge at the roar from Harold. He stayed still and calm, his heart rate decreasing.

Harold stalked forward. "Who was here before us? Who are you protecting?"

Deaton breathed. "I can't tell you."

Harold's face flushed, his eyes growing dark red. "You're willing to sacrifice your life for a werewolf and a human?"

Deaton stood up straighter, his eyes locked on the red. "I would, so you torture me or kill me, but I will not tell you."

Harold glared. "When did you go soft?"

"When I met you years ago," answered Deaton. "On the day you sought me for help."

Harold's glare disappeared. "You mean Scott."

Deaton slowly stood up on his feet with the help from the table. "I mean the prejudice of your family," he said. "I won't let you kill innocents who only want to protect people they love."

"That werewolf and human you're protecting tried to kill my brother," said Harold. "They are not innocent. They deserve to be punished."

"They only fought to protect the ones you sought to kill."

"The Argents?" snarled Harold. "If a werewolf is a friend of the Argents then the world has turned upside-down."

"Because it doesn't fit your status-quo?" said Deaton, looking upmost disgusted at Harold statement. "It's the reason I retired, you know."

"I always figured it was because the hunters killed your wife and child," said Harold.

Deaton's face became strained as his fingers curled and lips thinned. His brown eyes became haunted by ghostly images of his past. Harold's heart suddenly fainted and guilt cascaded his face.

"I'm sorry," said Harold. "I shouldn't have brought them up."

Deaton composed himself. "I think you should leave."

Harold walked to the exit doors, but paused. He looked over his shoulder back at Deaton. "They're going to learn who those two are," he said. "And you won't be able to protect them."

Harold walked out and Deaton heard the door chimed. When the door closed, Deaton sunk into his chair, dropping his head into his hands. He rubbed his temples tenderly, wishing for so many things to have happened differently.

_**BREAK**_

Stiles drove to his house, slamming on his brakes and parking. He helped Scott to his bedroom where their unmade beds rested unattained. Stiles helped Scott to his makeshift bed, while Scott winced at the slowly healing wounds.

"Deaton knows the Originals personally?" asked Stiles.

Scott shrugged. "He knows my dad."

Stiles plopped on his bed, nestling his head on a pillow. "So, Deaton knows them pretty well."

"I guess so," said Scott. "I don't know."

Scott winced again. The Original must had dug his claws deep into his back. The pain became less unbearable by the minute, but it still left a tingling pain sensation. Scott adjusted himself to be comfortable.

The night had been eventful. They had discovered Original killing bullets, learned that they captured Derek, and stopped an assault against the Argents. Yet, they returned back to Stiles's bedroom empty-handed. They had neither stopped the Originals or learn of their full plans. The only thing they did learn was that Scott has an uncle named Harvey and that Scott is immune to some Original physical attacks.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell are we going to do?"

Stiles sighed. "We could sleep?"

"I mean…with the Originals," said Scott. "They're going to keep going after Allison and her family…and even Jackson."

"And we got to stop them," said Stiles, despondently.

"But how?"

"Maybe Peter's working on that problem," said Stiles. "He did obtain Original killing bullets."

Scott flickered his eyes up to Stiles's bed. "I don't trust Peter."

"You're not the only one," agreed Stiles. "That wolf is creepier than Derek."

"I mean, why did he need those bullets?"

"Possible leverage?" suggested Stiles. "To tell the Originals to back off."

"He said it's a sin to kill an Original though," said Scott. "Remember? He said he would never kill me."

Stiles pondered for a long moment. "Maybe he doesn't want to kill _you _parse, but someone in your family?"

"Like my dad?"

"Er…I was going for whoever is the head of the Original," said Stiles. "Is your dad the head Alpha?"

Scott shook his head. "Deaton said that my grandfather was. Well, then again, he didn't know if he died or not. So, maybe my Dad."

"But, Peter and my Dad were friends," said Scott. "Peter knew him."

"I think a lot of werewolves know the Originals," said Stiles. "It's like England knowing the royal family."

Scott thought for another moment. There something in the back of his mind that bothered him, but he couldn't quite figure it out. He knew Peter was up to something. Something that wouldn't be good for anyone.

"We got to find out what Peter did with those bullets," said Scott. "Or at least what he's planning."

Scott heard Stiles moan. "I knew you were going to say that."

Scott threw one of his extra pillows up at Stiles's face. "Come on Stiles," he said. "If Peter has a plan…"

"I know. I know," said Stiles. "We got to stop him. Just like in the good old days."

Scott nodded. "Yeah…just like the good old days."

Stiles and Scott stopped talking for a moment. Their minds filled with possible scenarios and depictions of what was going to happen in their nearby future. It was until the sound of a howling wolf that brought them back to reality.

Stiles jumped out of his bed and pounced to the window. He flung it opened as Scott pushed himself into a sitting position. Another howl erupted from the woods. Stiles stumbled backwards to his bed and Scott.

"Scott?" he asked. "Do you know what they're saying?"

The side of Scott's sparkled in droplets of sweat. His eyes widened and glowed at the sound of the howling wolves.

"Scott!"

Scott looked up at his concerned friend's face, waiting for an answer. Scott breathed. "They saying revenge," he answered. "It means they're going to try to kill the Argents again."


	19. Chapter 19: Appraise

**Chapter 19: Appraise**

When Harold returned, he found his brother and father in deep conversation. Upon his entrance, both shot a look at him with concerned expressions. Harvey waited with anxious breath for any newfound news he might have got with the dear vet and it seemed their father was also waiting.

Harold, however, said nothing and went straight to the drinks, pouring himself a glass of scotch. He finished his glass with one gulp.

Harvey spoke. "How did the friendly chat go?"

Harold poured himself another glass. "It went well," he said. "Talked about the local sport teams and the crazy weather around here."

"Which is the best team?"

Harold glared at his younger brother, but turned to his father. "So, what were you two discussing? Family dinner?"

The Original Alpha took a seat at his chair, resting comfortably. "We're working on the culprits who tried to kill Harvey. He said a werewolf was involved."

"So, it's been assumed."

"It's the truth," retorted Harvey. "He's a _werewolf_."

The Original werewolf held his hand up for silence. The two brothers became quiet and turned back to their Alpha. The Original Alpha sat in silence as well, staring back and forth between the brothers.

"Harvey was shot," he spoke, "and those involved deserve to be punished for coming after my family."

Harvey smiled, satisfied. Harold nodded, mumbling. "Yes, of course."

"Whoever dares to attack us demonstrates that they need to know their place," said the Original Alpha, then nodding in Harvey's direction. "Harvey informed me that the werewolf attacked to protect the Argents."

The Original Alpha stood up from his seat, his eyes set and ragefull. "Werewolves that side with hunters are traitors to our kind. They must be eliminated. Is that understood boys?"

Harvey nodded obediently. Harold barely lifted his head in agreement. He felt troubled by the apparent action he and his pack were going to take. The Original Alpha noticed the pause in his son's obedience.

"Harold?" spoke the Original Alpha. "Do you care to share something?"

Harold brooded over. "I think I might know who was involved with the attack on Harvey."

"What?"

Both Harvey and the Original Alpha became suddenly alert and eagerness appeared on their faces. Harold could tell that Harvey sought for blood while his father sought for vengeance and tip the balance of power back to them. But, Harold still debated whether to tell them his theory.

Harvey, however, wanted to know now. "Well? Who is it? Who is responsible?"

Harold wrinkled his brows. "I don't know if it's true or not. I'm going off what Harvey told me."

"Just say it!"

Harold looked back to his father. "I ask for permission to investigate the matter on my own," he said. "I only have a theory and, if my theory is proven to be correct, I will deal with the situation."

Harvey turned to their father to argue, but the Original Alpha held his hand up for silence. He stared down at his eldest son with an approval nod. "Go. Find them and then kill them."

_**BREAK**_

Stiles and Scott awoke in great fright when they were awakened from their deep slumber when they were jerked out of their sleeping positions.

"What the hell did you do?"

Heart pumping abnormally faster and their eyes widening and refocusing to see Derek gripping their shirt collars. His teeth were inches away from their faces, snarling. Both Stiles and Scott were breathing raggedly, unsure and confused at the brutal wake up

"Derek?" said Scott.

Derek dropped the two boys and they stumbled. They hit the bed's footboard and fell back onto Stiles's bed. Stiles quickly sat up while Scott, sore from his still healing wounds, slowly rose up.

Derek stood in front of them, glaring. "What the hell were you thinking?" he asked again. "Going up against an Original?"

"We fought them off, didn't we?" said Scott. "We stopped them from killing the Argents."

"Yes, because that would be such a horrible thing to happen," said Derek, mockingly.

Scott frowned. "It would. We don't need anymore people to die."

Derek's brows knitted tightly, stalking off to the computer chair and sitting down with a rough huff. "Do you have any idea what you two morons did?"

"Er…saved a family from a brutal death?" said Scott.

"Yeah," agreed Stiles. "You should have seen me. I shot the Original…twice."

Derek's sulk face didn't disappear. It only became more obvious. His accusing eyes wandered from Stiles to Scott. "You didn't save a family, Scott," he said. "You only sacrificed others."

Scott's brows wrinkled. "What are you talking about?"

"You two attacked an Original," explained Derek. "They're going to hunt you down and kill you for retribution."

Stiles's face paled. "But…they don't know who we were. Right? I mean, the Original…he didn't know Scott's relations to him!"

Derek rolled his head in angst. "You don't get it! They don't _need_ to know your names! They have your scent."

Stiles wasn't frightened. He still felt that unknown and safe from the Originals. Scott knew the truth. With the Originals having their scent is like them knowing their full names. Stiles and him were no longer safe. Stiles's father wasn't safe. Nor his mother.

Scott looked up to Derek. "What do we do?"

Stiles jerked his head to Scott. "What? What do you mean 'What do we do?'"

"Stiles, they have our scents!" said Scott. "They could burst down this door right now!"

Stiles's face lit in horror. He jumped off the bed, pacing around his room his hands shaking uncontrollably. "B-but…my dad," he said. "Is he in danger?"

Stiles was looking at Derek when he asked the question. Derek, who had watched the two boys dawn on the consequences of their brawl earlier that morning. He nodded solemnly.

"Yes," he answered. "You and your father share similar scents. They could possibly mistake your father as you."

Stiles freaked out. He pulled rushed out of his bedroom and down the stairs. Scott heard Stiles dialing the landline phone. Derek heard it as well and he looked back at Scott. Then, he got up and walked over toward Scott, concerned look in his eyes.

"What did they do to you?"

"Just a few scratches," answered Scott. "Nothing too bad. Dr. Deaton said it would take some time to heal."

"Time to heal?"

"Apparently I could have died if I wasn't related to him," said Scott.

"I know," said Derek. "Originals are a lot stronger than regular werewolves. Their claws can kill a person simply by digging their claws deep. "

"But your blood kept you from death," said Derek, and then paused. "Did the Original recognize you?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't think so," he said. "If he did, then he wouldn't have tried to kill me…wouldn't he?"

Derek took a long moment to contemplate the answer before agreeing with Scott. "No. He probably didn't know about you. That means your father never mentioned you to the family. That's good news."

"How's that 'good news'?"

"Well, I guess not anymore," said Derek. "They're going to find you two."

Scott picked himself off Stiles's bed; rather exasperated at the terrible price the morning had cost his friend. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," said Derek. "Hiding isn't an option. They'll find you. You could always run."

"But…Stiles's dad. My mom!"

"Will be safe," said Derek. "As long as you're not there."

"We can't just leave them though," argued Scott. "I can't abandon my mom! I won't abandon her. Not like my Dad did."

"If you want to keep her safe then you'll have to leave," said Derek. "It's the only way to protect the her."

"But—my Dad."

"He'll be searching for you, no doubt," said Derek. "His own progeny runs away, he'll get suspicious."

Scott dropped his head in his hands, grabbing strands of his hair and breathing frustratingly.

"I can't just get up and run," said Scott. "I have friends…a family! So does Stiles."

"Scott—."

"No!" said Scott, his blood pressure rising. "We're not like you!"

Derek growled and snapped Scott's shirt collar, pulling him closer to his sharp teeth. Then, he retracted his sharp teeth and simply glared at him. "You're right. We're nothing alike. But, you'll soon understand what it's like, especially when the Originals kills your friends and family."

He let go of Scott, who now looked more determined to prove Derek wrong. However, deep down, he was more afraid that Derek was right.

Scott heard footsteps coming up the stairs and Stiles reappeared in his bedroom rather frazzled. "My dad is at the station," he said and he looked back to Derek. "This is your fault!"

Derek shrugged off Stiles's accusation. "No, it's _your_ fault. You're the one who shot them."

"And you're the reason why we had to shoot!" cried Stiles. "If you didn't tell them about the Argents, then we wouldn't had to risk our lives!"

"Would it have been better to tell them about Scott?"

Stiles and Derek continued to banter with each other, leaving Scott to sink back to the bed. Derek was right, but he hated to agree with the Alpha. He and Stiles were now hunted by the Originals and risking all their friends and family's lives. From what he could tell, Scott wouldn't put it past the Originals to torture or even kill their loved ones to get to them.

"If you didn't go around town biting teenagers," chimed Stiles, "then they wouldn't be here!"

"Don't go putting the full blame on _me_," retorted Derek.

"Shut up!" hushed Scott. "Both of you! Don't you hear that?"

Derek and Stiles stopped and listened.

"I…don't hear anything," said Stiles.

Scott's eyes darted to Derek. Derek was focused and then his eyes widened. "Someone's here."

Stiles perked up. "Here? In my house?"

Stiles pushed past Derek and Scott to get to the window. He drew a small part of the blinds back and looked through the window. He spun around, slamming his back against his bedroom wall as if trying to blend in.

Scott looked at Stiles, waiting for his fear stricken friend to speak. But, Stiles couldn't speak. His mouth was opened, but no words came out.

"Stiles?" asked Scott, impatiently.

Stiles gulped. "It's…er…it's your Dad, Scott. Your Dad is outside my house."

"_What!_"

Scott raced to the window, peaking through the blinds. Standing by the mailbox was a man who Scott remembered. The past years have aged his father only slightly. He still had thick, dark hair, few wrinkles, and dark, conning eyes.

"What are we going to do?" cried Stiles. "I don't want die here. I'm too young to die. I'm too young to die. I haven't done all the things I've wanted to do. I—."

"Shut up," ordered Derek and he pulled Scott away from the window. "Don't show yourself to him."

Scott looked back at Derek. "You brought him here!"

Derek huffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I didn't bring him here. He smelled you here."

"So, what's his plan?" demanded Stiles. "Kill us both?"

"Maybe," said Derek. "Which is what I was trying to tell you two idiots before."

Stiles fumed, but didn't say anything. Scott gripped his hair in frustration. He did this. He led the Originals to Stiles's doorstep. He could have done so many different thins to avoid this, but he picked the option that endangered his best friend once again.

Scott looked back at Derek. "What do we do?"

_**BREAK**_

Harold looked up at the sheriff's house. Sheriff Stilenski hadn't changed much. His late wife's flowerbeds were intact and blooming quite nicely despite the cold weather and the baby pine tree his son planted in elementary school had grown a few feet. Time had certainly passed, but for the moment, it seemed to almost stand still.

A jeep was parked outside and it carried the same stench he smelled back at the vet's office. Seeing as the sheriff drove his police cruiser that could only mean one other person: Stiles.

The child, well, now teenager, with a hyper active brain was his son's best friend. He had wished Scott had done better. Stiles was a klutz and a loose cannon in his opinion. Never knowing what he would do in different situations. But, according to Melissa, Scott and Stiles were tight. Almost like real blood brothers. Nothing could shatter their brotherhood.

Until now.

If Stiles was the person who shot his brother with Mountain Ash bullets, then the annoying boy would die. The cost of attacking someone so powerful and dangerous. But, first, he needed to make sure. He needed to check to see if Stiles was a hunter or if it was another person. But, Harold doubted that it was another person.

Harold walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. A few moments went by and he was about to ring the bell again when he heard footsteps coming closer. Then, the door opened and Stiles Stilenski stood in front of him.

The teenager's face was pale and his hands were shaking. Stiles noticed his hands shaking and put them behind his back. "Oh! God…w-what…I mean…"

"Shut up Stiles," said Harold.

Stiles closed his mouth.

Harold looked behind Stiles, searching to see if anyone was behind him. No one was there. Stiles looked questionably at Harold. "Scott's not here," said Stiles, "if that's who you're looking for."

Harold turned back to Stiles. "I'm not looking for Scott."

"Oh…well, my Dad…he's at work still," said Stiles. "You know…putting bad people away. Animals…you know…monsters."

Harold arched his eyebrows. The teenager knew the truth. "How long have you known about werewolves?"

"Werewolves?" said Stiles, letting out a forced giggle. "I have no idea what you mean?"

Harold's face glowered, stopping Stiles frozen. "How about we stop pretending that we don't know anything, hmm? So, Stiles, how long have you been in the hunting business?"

Stiles looked panicky, but his face was plastered with confusion. "Hunting? Never…I don't hunt…you mean game and such? That's really not my thing. I'm a lover not a fighter. I'd probably cry for days if I killed an animal. Especially the doe. I couldn't ever watch _Bambi_ straight through…"

Harold rolled his eyes with annoyance and anger. His eyes turned a dark red that made Stiles back up. "Dude…your eyes. What's a matter with your eyes?"

Harold blinked and his eyes returned to the brown shade. "Thank you Stiles. You've been helpful."

He turned around and walked away from the Stilenski house, heading back to his headquarters.

_**BREAK**_

Stiles watched Harold walk away and, when he felt the werewolf was at a safe distance, he closed the door and triple locked it. The closet door in the hallway opened, revealing Scott and Derek, looking rather sick.

Stiles came over and removed the wolfsbane flower from the closet and threw it outside the window. Stiles had kept a few of the flowers for protection reasons and gave one wolfsbane flower to Scott and Derek to cover their scents from the Original. With the flower removed, the two werewolves were finally able to breathe normally again.

"Your father," said Stiles to Scott, "he just got a hell of a lot creepier."

Scott nodded. Hiding in the closet with Derek and the wolfsbane flower, Scott listened closely to Stiles and Harold's conversation. Scott was ready to pounce out of the closet and attack his father when Harold demanded Stiles to stop being clueless. Scott felt for certain that his father was going to attack Stiles. But, he didn't.

"So, the plan worked, right?" said Stiles. "He didn't attack me. I convinced him I'm not the shooter…right?"

Derek shrugged. "I don't know. He gave up too easily."

Scott nodded. "Something felt off," he said. "I could hear his heart. He knew it was you Stiles. But, why didn't he kill you?"

"Maybe because I have some personal history with him?" said Stiles. "I mean, he knows I'm your best friend. Maybe he didn't kill me for your sake?"

Scott brushed that theory off. "No. My father could care less. He hates you Stiles. He always found you…"

"Awesome? Intelligent? A good influence?" suggested Stiles.

"…annoying," finished Scott, causing Stiles to be slightly hurt.

Derek leaned up against the wall, thinking. "I agree with Scott," he said. "He knows you were involved with the attack against his brother."

Stiles looked between Derek and Scott. "Okay…so why didn't he kill me?"

"Maybe because it's early morning," suggested Scott. "Too many witnesses?"

Derek shook his head. "An Original wouldn't care. They've killed in the daylight," he said. "No, I think this has something to do with you."

Scott was taken aback. "Me? Why me?"

"Both of you guys attacked the Originals," said Derek. "They've narrowed down that Stiles was involved. That he was the human that shot with the bullets."

Scott suddenly understood. "They're going to use Stiles to find out who the werewolf is?"

Derek nodded as both of the boys glanced at each other with doomed expressions. "They'll probably want to see if Stiles will lead to the werewolf. Then, they can kill you both at the same time rather than separately."

Stiles flew his hands up into the air. "Shit…could this weekend get any worse?"

_**BREAK**_

Harold returned to the headquarters and made his way to his father's office. Upon entering, he noticed Harvey sitting on the couch, his father at his desk, and a few of their fellow servants standing around, talking briskly.

They all fell silent upon the elder son's arrival. The Original Alpha stood up from his desk chair, looking directly at his son's eyes. "Well? Did you find the identity of the hunter and the werewolf?"

Harold paused, debating whether to tell his father of Stiles. He couldn't believe that the Stilenski boy grew up to become a werewolf hunter. It was almost comical, but his werewolf nature does not lie. The scent of the jeep, of the vet's matched to Stiles. He was the one who shot his brother with the Mountain Ash bullets.

But, the Stilenski boy was his son's friend. Could he really let the boy die? Then again, would Stiles show mercy to him? He didn't show mercy to his brother.

"Harold?" said the Original Alpha.

Harold refocused. "The hunter's name is Stilenski. Stiles Stilenski."


	20. Chapter 20: Await

**Chapter 20: Await**

"All right," said Stiles. "I have a case full of magic bullets. Some guns. Wolfsbane flowers…yet, I still don't feel safe."

"Like I said," stated Derek, his muscles twitching. "You should just leave the city."

Scott returned to the bedroom. The morning sun had risen beyond the horizon and cars were driving past through the Saturday morning rush for errands. Stiles's father called and told his son that he wouldn't be home until later as he was working on some paperwork. Stiles wasn't upset at all. In fact, he told his father to take his time at work as he was busying doing errands anyway to hang-out.

"What about those Alpha bullets?" said Scott. "The ones Peter got? Can't you ask him?"

Derek raised his eyebrows. "What? You think I have a GPS on my uncle? I don't know where the hell he is or those bullets."

"Then what do you know," snapped Stiles.

Derek glared at him, but Stiles adrenaline was running too high for the teenager to be afraid at the moment. "I know a lot more about the world than you do," he said. "And, like I said before, it would be best if the two of you just left."

"And like we told you," said Scott. "We're not going to abandon our families."

Derek let out a frustrating growl. "Then, fine," he said. "You're on your own."

Derek made his way to the door. Stiles and Scott looked surprised. "You're just going to leave us?" asked Scott.

Derek stopped and turned around. "I gave you options and advice," said Derek. "But, you two aren't listening and I'm not going to stick around to watch you get slaughtered or," Derek eyed Scott, "get captured."

"So, that's it," said Scott. "You would rather let us die than help us?"

"Of course not," barked Derek, "But I'm not going to let you two morons get me killed in the process of your stupid plan!"

"But _we_ need help!" cried Scott. "The Originals…if they're coming for Stiles—."

"Oh, they are," said Derek.

"Then we need to protect him," said Scott.

"He's not in my pack," said Derek. "I don't have to protect him."

Derek's statement made Scott fumed. "You're an asshole! Stiles has saved your life countless times. Like at the pool! He saved you from drowning or what about the time with the bullet?"

"He didn't save me from the bullet," said Derek.

"I was willing to cut you open with a saw," added Stiles. "I even hid you from the Argents too! I could have tied a bow on your head and put you at their doorstep. But I didn't."

"Because I threatened to bite you throat out."

"Doesn't matter," said Scott. "He still saved you from the Kanima at the pool. It's about time you owe him."

"Yeah," added Stiles, folding his arms.

Derek glared at angrily at the two friends. His mouth got smaller as it formed a frown, but Scott and Stiles saw his mind swaying over options. Finally, Derek let out a huff.

"Fine," Derek said. "I'll help, but don't make the mistake that I'm going to do this from now on."

"Would never imagine it," said Stiles. "Now, seeing as you're a werewolf who knew about the Originals longer than either of us did, when do you think they'll attack?"

"When the sky turns dark," answered Derek. "That's when they'll strike…or at least show up. They might follow you for now. To see if you'll lead them to the werewolf."

"Me," said Scott. "So, we should act like our normal selves until night time?"

Derek moaned. "No…if you two are seen together then it might lead them to you Scott."

"But, my Dad knows that I am friends with Stiles," said Scott. "He would inform them of that, right?"

"Yeah, but you still smell like a werewolf."

"I could wear wolfsbane?"

"That'll make you sick and weak," said Derek. "Won't help you protect Stiles."

Scott agreed. Hiding in the closet for just that brief amount of time with the wolfsbane flower made him almost faint. "Okay, so is there another way to remove the scent?"

"You'll have to ask the good doctor about that one," said Derek. "All I know is to rub wolfsbane, but like I said, it won't help you protect Stiles."

Scott pulled out his phone. "It's nearly seven o'clock," said Scott. "I have to work at the vet's office in thirty minutes. Derek?"

"No."

Derek already knew what the young beta werewolf was going to ask him. He would not do it. Never.

"I'm not going to babysit the idiot," said Derek.

Stiles waved his hands. "Wait…what? I have to stay with Derek? Are you kidding me?"

"It's not going to happen," said Derek, "because I'm not doing it."

"We can't leave Stiles alone," said Scott. "Not with the Originals hunting him."

"Not my problem," said Derek. "I said I would help. Not babysit."

Stiles looked at his friend. "Why can't I just come with you to the vet's office?"

"Because, if they're tailing you, then they'll find out I'm the werewolf," said Scott.

"And how would that be bad?" questioned Stiles.

"Because then they would definitely kill you," answered Derek. "I hate to admit this, but Scott's right. It's best if you two aren't really seen with each other until Scott can cover up his werewolf scent."

"So, what?" asked Stiles. "I'm on house arrest?"

"No," said Scott. "You can go wherever you like. Just as long as Derek's nearby."

"Again," said Derek, annoyed. "I'm not babysitting him!"

_**BREAK**_

Scott left the Stilenski house through the back door. He checked his surroundings and discovered that no one was watching the house. He crept from the back and jumped over the neighbor's fence, heading toward the vet's office.

Derek begrudgingly stayed behind to watch Stiles and protect him if the Originals decided to attack in the daylight. Derek fumed over the situation, but he just sat down and told Stiles to keep quiet.

Stiles forced Scott to promise that he would come back as soon as possible. "I don't want to be stuck with…_him_." Stiles looked behind him at the glowered Derek Hale.

Scott arrived at his work early and opened the door, the bell chiming his arrival. Dr. Deaton greeted him from the back room and Scott went over. Dr. Deaton already had a dog on the examine table, checking its vitals and writing down results on a clipboard.

"You're early Scott," said Dr. Deaton. "I didn't expect you to come until later. How's the back?"

"Good," he said. "They completely healed a few minutes ago."

"Good to hear," said Dr. Deaton looking up to see alarmed eyes staring back at him. "What's the matter?"

Scott came to the table, standing across from Dr. Deaton. "They know."

Dr. Deaton picked his head up from the dog's face. "They know?"

"Yes, my Dad…he was outside Stiles's house this morning," said Scott. "They know that Stiles shot the Original."

Dr. Deaton's expression didn't change. He seemed to have been already aware of this fact. "So, you've come to work to find an answer about how to protect yourselves?"

"I know there's no way to protect ourselves from them," said Scott. "Except with those magical bullets."

Dr. Deaton's eyebrows rose. "You know about those bullets?"

Scott nodded. "Peter has them though. And, I doubt he's willing to share or even help us."

Dr. Deaton shrugged agreeably. "Yes…he's not the sharing person. So, what did you come to ask me about?"

"They only know about Stiles," said Scott. "They don't know about me yet."

"You're seeking a way to keep your scent hidden from them," said Dr. Deaton. "So, to have a surprise attack on them."

Scott was taken back. "How did you—."

"Scott I've known you for a long time," said the vet. "I know what you're thinking more than half the time."

Scott believed it to be true. Didn't Dr. Deaton say he had been watching him for years? So, it shouldn't be surprising that Dr. Deaton understood how he thought.

"Yeah, so, do you know anyway to hide a werewolf's scent besides using wolfsbane?"

Dr. Deaton shook his head. "Wolfsbane is the strongest. Anything else won't work."

Dread came over Scott like a raving waterfall. He slumped back to the counter, his head bowed in failure. Dr. Deaton stared sympathetically at the young werewolf, knowing perfectly how helpless Scott felt.

"I get how you feel Scott," said Dr. Deaton. "But, if you want my advice—."

"I do."

"Then, I suggest you and Stiles leave for a couple of days…maybe even longer."

"But what about our families? Friends?" cried Scott. "We can't leave them."

Dr. Deaton sighed. "I know. It's hard being a werewolf. People constantly hunting you. Both hunters and werewolves. But, to keep the ones you love safe, the best way is to leave them."

Scott rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. "What's the other option?"

Dr. Deaton looked gravely up at Scott. "Fight…and die."

"Does the dying always come with the second option?"

Dr. Deaton nodded. "Someone always dies. Someone typically close." Dr. Deaton rubbed the dog's fur, the dog moaning gleefully at the attention. "I'm sorry Scott that this fate befell on you and your friends. None of you deserve it."

Dr. Deaton took the clipboard and moved it to his desk. "Will you take Fiona here to the back room. Give her a nice bath."

_**BREAK**_

Stiles and Derek stared at each other from across the room. Neither of them spoke to each other since Scott left for work. Stiles constantly checked outside to see if anyone was stalking his house. He didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean no one was there. He hung out with werewolves long enough to know they were good at blending in with their surroundings.

Stiles moved from the window to his computer, typing away on Facebook and checking the status of his few friends. He checked Lydia's. She hadn't written much, but he noticed that she liked the show Awkward. What the hell was the show even about?

Stiles exited out of Facebook and to a computer game. It was an old PC game, but he found it thrilling enough to entertain him rather than having a silent staring contest with Derek Hale.

As he neared the end of his game, he heard someone knocking on the front door. Stiles froze then looked up at Derek. Derek stood up on his feet, his eyes alerted and his brows burrowing together in concentration. Stiles stood up as well, moving closer to Derek for protection.

"Stay here," said Derek, pushing Stiles aside.

Derek went to the bedroom door, but stopped when they both heard the front door open and close. Stiles took in a big gulp of air, running to the corner of his bedroom, pulling out his lacrosse stick.

Derek stared bewildered at the sight. "What are you doing?"

Stiles glanced at the stick. "Protecting myself."

Derek rolled his eyes, knowing perfectly well that it wouldn't protect Stiles from an Original.

The stairs started to creak, warning them that someone was climbing the stairs toward them. Derek ushered Stiles to the bathroom, but Stiles insisted to go to the window.

"What are you doing?" cried Derek. "If there's one, there's more! Get to the bathroom!"

Stiles stumbled to the bathroom, nearly tripping over himself as he raced through the door. Derek blocked the entrance to the bathroom, his claws stretching out and his face becoming animal-like. Derek pushed Stiles further back into the bathroom.

"Stay inside no matter what," ordered Derek and he slammed the door.

Stiles ran to the bathroom cabinet, pulling out all the cleaners hoping to use some as chemical weapons. He heard his bedroom door opened and a brief struggle before it fell silent. Stiles heartbeat raced rapidly and uncontrollably. They would definitely know where he was hiding.

Stiles readied himself with the chemicals and his lacrosse stick to fight off the upcoming attacks. Stiles watch the doorknob turn and he gulped nervously.

The doorknob stopped twisting and the door slowly creaked open, letting nature's light enter the bathroom. Stiles fell back, hitting the wall. He held his lacrosse stick up, ready to puncture the werewolf in the heart with the bunt end.

As the door opened all the way, Stiles charged forward, thrashing his lacrosse stick forward. The werewolf grabbed the stick out of his hands. Stiles fell back, reaching out for any chemical product to spray the intruder.

The werewolf slapped the chemicals out of Stiles's reach. "Really? Stiles, of all people, I thought you were the smart one of the bunch."

Stiles blinked and now noticed that it was Peter. "Peter?"

Peter Hale nodded and turned back to see Derek standing from afar, looking just as quizzical as Peter at Stiles's use of chemicals.

"Were you really about to use toilet bowl cleaner on me?" asked Peter, slightly chuckling at the thought.

Stiles looked between both werewolves then to Derek. "Did you know he was coming?"

"If I did would I've put you in the bathroom?"

"Maybe."

Derek thought and then gave a heartless shrug. "Probably."

Peter pulled Stiles out of the bathroom and the young human fell on top of his bedroom. He flipped over and scooted away from the two werewolves.

"What the hell are you doing here?" demanded Stiles.

Peter fixed his jacket. "News travels fast," he said. "Heard you decided to attack an Original. Not a smart move."

"A little late to tell us," said Stiles. "So, you came here to gloat? Excited and can't wait to see Scott and I dead?"

Peter was now the one that looked puzzled. "Why would I want either of you dead?"

"Because we killed you!"

"So? If I wanted the two of you dead, I would have done it hours ago," said Peter. "I actually came to see if I could help in some way."

Stiles and Derek glanced at each other then back at Peter with suspicion.

"And how were you planning to help us?" questioned Stiles. "With those bullets?"

Peter shook his head. "No…those bullets…are somewhere safe."

"Then how were you planning on defeating the Originals? By scaring them to death?"

Peter glared and Stiles sunk away under the intense stare. "No, but I do have an idea."

"What's that?" asked Derek, his voice tensed.

Peter went over to Stiles's closet and pulled out one of Stiles's biggest clothing articles. Stiles and Derek gave raised eyebrows.

"So, you want to wear one of my jackets?" said Stiles. "Great…um, plan…I guess."

"They really should check your IQ again," said Peter. "My plan involves Derek here wearing this…whatever this is." Peter held up the jacket.

"It's my mom's old college jacket," said Stiles. "I use to wear it after she…"

Stiles fell silent. Peter examined the jacket, but shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever, Derek you'll wear this," Peter threw the jacket at Derek. The werewolf caught the jacket, but wasn't pleased, "and lead the Originals away from the real Stiles."

"Me?" said Derek.

"Yes," said Peter, firmly. "You'll mislead them and Stiles here," Peter nudged at Stiles, "will make a run out of town with his idiot partner in crime."

"You mean Scott?" said Stiles.

Derek dropped the jacket onto the computer chair. "I don't think this is a good idea. If the Originals find out what we did…"

"They're going to find out that you are helping them," said Peter. "This way you can pull it off as a simple accident."

Peter picked up the jacket and pushed it into Derek's hands. "Now, put it on and get out of the house. We got to start leaving a trail."

Derek took off his jacket and replaced it with Stiles's jackets. Peter took Derek's jacket and threw it at Stiles. Stiles pushed the jacket away from him.

"Put it on Stiles," said Peter. "It will help hide your scent."

Stiles sighed and pulled the jacket over his shoulders. It smelled like wilderness and he hated it. "God…have you ever heard of dry cleaning?"

Derek growled and uncomfortably tried to fit Stiles's jacket over his broad shoulders. "I'll be off," he said, "I guess. Peter are you?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll watch the little runt."

Stiles looked up. "Who are you calling a runt?"

Peter huffed, annoyed already with the young Stiles. Derek ducked out of the bedroom, leaving Stiles with a less trustworthy werewolf. He doubted Scott would be pleased with Derek for abandoning his post.

Once Derek left the house, Stiles checked the window. He watched Derek leave through the front door, unafraid of the possibility of Originals or their servants watching the house.

Stiles slunk away from the window, turning back to the very alive former Alpha. Peter wandered around Stiles's room, investigating the small trinkets and decorations. Then, he looked over at Stiles again.

"So, your mom," he said. "How did she die?"

Stiles heart stopped for a moment. "Cancer," he answered. "And I don't want to talk about it with you."

Peter shrugged. "That's fine with me."

Peter took the computer seat, turning to the computer. He opened the Internet and began to type speedily on the keyboard. Stiles rushed over, peaking over Peter's shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"Something private," answered Peter. "I would appreciate it if you backed off."

"And I would appreciate if you don't use my things," countered Stiles, pushing the chair Peter sat away from the computer.

Stiles shut down his computer and Peter looked fiercely at Stiles for his intrusion. Stiles didn't care though. Peter had just given away his most prized possession. Stiles returned to his bed, sitting unhappily. Neither of the werewolves made Stiles feel any better about the situation and wished for nothing more than for Scott's return.

Peter tapped on the arms of the chair and Stiles waited for him to do something.

"So…why are you helping us?" asked Stiles, not liking the tension or the silence.

Peter glanced over at the young human. "Excuse me?"

"Why are you helping me and Scott?" asked Stiles. "You hate us. You actually tried to kill me twice!"

"Twice?"

"The night at the school and at the hospital."

"Oh," said Peter, but acted like his behavior didn't mean anything.

Stiles waited for him answer, but, again, the werewolf said nothing. "Why are you helping us?"

Peter sighed annoyingly. "Can't I just do something nice without being questioned?"

"No," said Stiles, "because we know you. You're the evil psycho werewolf!"

"Ouch," said Peter, amused.

"So, why are you helping—."

"Because having Scott dead won't do any of us good," said Peter.

"Scott?"

"You must know who he is by now, don't you?"

"Yes, his bloodline is from the Originals," said Stiles. "So, what?"

"If he's dead," said Peter. "Then we are _all_ dead. This whole town will be dead." Peter leaned back. "Ever wonder about those "ghost towns"? Or towns that simply disappeared due to forest fires or just simple diseases? Maybe animal attacks?"

Stiles gulped and Peter smiled.

"It's because someone in that town pissed off the Originals," said Peter. "And they paid the price for it severely. You don't want that to happen here in Beacon Hills? Where your family and friends live, now do you?"

Stiles shook his head. Peter nodded.

"Good," he said. "Now, shut up and be prepared to leave later tonight when the young werewolf comes back."

Stiles moved away from the computer and to his bed. He rolled over to the furthest side, away from Peter. His eyes fell on a picture frame. It contained an old photo of his mother and father and himself as a young boy. He sat happily between his parents, believing that this moment would never end.

How wrong he was. Things simply kept from getting worse and worse.

_**BREAK**_

As night started to creep up behind the sun's light, Scott worried more. Dr. Deaton sensed Scott's tension and asked if he wanted to leave early. Scott shook his head, knowing that Derek would call if he and Stiles were in trouble. Or, at least Stiles would call.

Surprisingly, Scott thought Stiles or even Derek would call earlier both begging him to come back. But, no one called and Scott didn't hear anything.

Dr. Deaton decided to keep Scott occupied. He had Scott clean the cages, wash all the animals, and help him with procedures. Scott did everything, keeping him focus as he dealt with the animals rather than the dangers ahead of him and his friends.

Night now covered the sky, speckles of stars twinkling above them. Dr. Deaton closed the shop and started cleaning the office with Scott's help. Scott wiped down the examine table and put the medicine cabinet in order again while Dr. Deaton finished some paperwork.

Scott came out from the back after feeding the animals, reaching for his jacket. "Is there anything else you need me to do, sir?"

Dr. Deaton kept writing. "Nope. You're good to go home."

"Well, not really," said Scott. "I got to check on Stiles. Make sure he's safe and protect him."

"Of course," said Dr. Deaton. "Have they called you yet?"

Scott checked his phone. No miss calls or text messages. "Nope. So, I guess they're doing all right."

Dr. Deaton nodded solemnly. Then, he opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a small brown sack. He ushered Scott over and gave him the sack.

Scott leered over the sack. "What is it?"

"A combo," said Dr. Deaton. "While you were doing some chores in the backroom, I fixed up a little something to help you."

Scott's eyes widen and he opened the sack only to be repulsed by the smell. "Oh…God…what is it?"

"A mixture of wolfsbane, Mountain Ash, and a homemade concoction I made a few months ago," said Dr. Deaton. "It won't stop them, but it will definitely slow them down and mess up their senses. Throw it in their faces."

Scott nodded to signal he understood the instructions. "What about me?" he asked. "How much will it affect me?"

Dr. Deaton sighed. "It will affect you a little bit. As long as you don't get it in your mouth or eyes, you shouldn't experience the full affect."

"But I will lose some of my sense."

"You won't lose any," he said. "They'll just be a little bit off."

Scott was about to ask him another question when he phone shrilled for attention. Scott whipped his phone out and answered. "Hello?"

"Scott? It's me."

"Derek?" said Scott. "What's wrong?"

"The plan didn't work. They figured it out," said Derek. "They heading back to Stiles's house right now."

Scott was confused. "Wait? What are you talking about? Are you not with him?"

"Didn't someone tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Scott begged, his voice high and his nerves working overtime.

"Doesn't matter now," said Derek. "You gotta go back now or Stiles will be dead."


	21. Chapter 21: Affront

**Chapter 21: Affront**

_Earlier that evening before the phone call_

Derek Hale knew he was being followed.

They smelled Stiles's scent and were following him. Yet, they didn't notice that he wasn't the same person they saw earlier. They relied too much on their werewolf nose to notice the difference in height and structure.

Derek turned into the woods, thinking it as the best way to camouflage himself from the Originals. At first, he doubted that his uncle's plan would work. He didn't expect the Originals would be this easy to fool. But, so far, they have been stalking him and no one had contacted him about being under attack.

Dark clouds cascaded the sky, the moon hidden, casting a shadow upon Beacon Hills. Derek used the darkness to hide himself from the oncoming Originals, who wished to kill him. Maneuvering though the long limbed trees and dead, wrinkled leaves, Derek climbed up a portion of the cliff, resting near the edge to spot out the Originals.

He could see two of the servants roaming the woods below, searching out Stiles's scent. Derek narrowed his eyes onto the werewolves as they neared him. Finally, the two werewolves stood below the cliff, looking up at him.

Derek bared his teeth and lunged down on top of the servants. He punched one off into the rocks, making the werewolf collapse like a cut marionette. The other werewolf was a bit more challenging. The werewolf servant back flipped him to the ground. Derek was winded for a moment, but when he saw the werewolf's claws coming down to his neck, he dodged it, leaves crinkling in his face.

The werewolf attacked again and Derek rolled, barely missing death several times. Derek kicked the werewolf, giving him time to jump to his feet. The werewolf didn't back off. He kick-punched Derek in the stomach. Derek stumbled backwards, but he didn't fall. He recovered and ducked, avoiding a blow toward his head. Derek took the chance and kicked the werewolf to the cliff, cornering him. Derek raised his hand and punched the werewolf three times repeatedly until he slumped down next to his comrade.

Derek turned around, ready to call Peter, when he encountered Harold.

Harold didn't seem remotely surprised to see Derek. He even didn't appear worried that his men lied crumpled on the ground. If Derek could describe the expression, it seemed Harold was more amused and appreciative.

"Clever," muttered Harold, "very clever."

But, the stare off didn't last for long. Harold attacked with such speed and force that Derek didn't even realized he was attacked until he woke up alone in the woods, dried blood plastered on his neck and face.

Derek jumped up; scanning the area to find that he no one was around him. Derek dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Scott.

_**BREAK**_

Peter led Stiles to the jeep, ordering the boy to get into the passenger seat. Stiles argued, telling the werewolf that he drives his own car and no one else. Peter showed Stiles his fangs and Stile backed down.

Stiles pelted out of the driveway, going full speed down the neighborhood street without a care that they might get pulled over. Peter gave him directions and toldAs they drove, Stiles looked out the window. Houses flew past him as blurry images. They blended within the scenery, making out a mash of different colors. Only when he hit a red traffic light that everything came into focus.

"Where are we going?" questioned Stiles. "I thought we were going to get Scott?"

"Scott's fine on his own," said Peter. "The Originals won't touch him."

"They already did!" Stiles said. "They tried to kill him last night."

"Because he got in their way," said Peter, "He's fine, or, he will be."

Stiles arched his brows with suspicion. "What do you mean by that?"

Peter mumbled a few unpleasant words, then looked over at Stiles. "Scott can't hide forever. They'll eventually find him and learn who he truly is."

"There's nothing you can do about it," continued Peter. "You or Derek or Deaton. You can try to prevent Scott's fate, but it's coming straight for him."

Stiles slammed on the brakes, jerking both of them forward in their seats. "What are you talking about? Stop being cryptic and just say it straight!"

Stiles then, slowly and painfully, leaned back in his seat, rubbing his chest. Peter, however, felt no affect of the force. His eyes bored down onto Stiles, making Stiles's skin form goosebumps and his nerves jumped.

"Scott's comes from a powerful lineage," said Peter.

Stiles sighed. "I know! He's an Original by blood. What does that—."

"If you shut up for a minute, I'd be able to tell you," growled Peter, the pointed to the road. "Now, drive."

Stiles fell silent. But, he lifted his foot off the brake and the jeep rolled down the street. Peter tapped his fingers on the windowsill, watching, impatiently, as they moved toward the outer edge of Beacon Hills.

Stiles, however, was more impatient. "Are you going to tell me now? Or do I have to wait until the autobiography comes out next month?"

Peter frowned at the human. "This power status makes him a target," he explained. "The hunters, like your Argent friends, will want him dead. Doesn't matter he hasn't spilled human blood or saved that _girl_ multiple times. They'll want him dead because he's an Original."

"The Originals will want him, of course, because he's family," continued Peter, simply. "They'll want to raise him to be a powerful werewolf. To kill and rule like the family has done for centuries."

Stiles listened and each minute sent him chills. "So, you're saying Scott's going to either be dead or…"

"Be that natural born killer he's been trying to fight against," finished Peter, a whimsical smile growing on his face. "And to think, he thought _I_ was the enemy. I was only trying to help him in the long run."

Stiles scoffed at Peter's last comment, but it didn't cover his fear for his friend. Scott, a monster? Never. If Stiles learned anything this past year, together, the two could face any obstacle that comes their way. They fought off the Alpha together (with others' help, he added) and they planned and took care of the Kanima alone. Not to mention, Scott has gone close to the edge on several accounts, but he's always managed to pull back in time.

Stiles didn't agree with Peter. He had known Scott long enough to know that his friend won't surrender. With Stiles (and, possibly, others), Scott won't bow down to either group. As Derek mentioned before, Scott had his own pack. He doesn't need the Originals. And, of course, Stiles would protect his friend just as much Scott would protect him.

Suddenly, Peter became alert. His eyes brightened and Stiles could have sworn that he witnessed Peter's ears perk up like a dog.

"Stop the jeep," Peter ordered.

Stiles pulled the jeep off to the side, the woods up ahead.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, scanning the area to see what caught the werewolf's attention. He didn't see anything, but spending most of his time hanging around Scott, Stiles knew better to trust the instincts of a werewolf.

Peter stepped out of the jeep. Stiles opened the jeep door to get out, but Peter snapped his fingers.

"Stay," ordered Peter. "I'm just going to check something."

"You're kidding," said Stiles. "Stay here? I'm freakin' live bait waiting here!"

Peter groaned annoyingly, before closing the jeep door. Stiles quickly lock his jeep, sinking down in his seat to hide himself. Peter walked toward the words, disappearing amongst the trees.

Stiles, nervous overreacting, spun around in his seat He kept glancing amongst the trees half expecting Peter to return or for an Original to attack. He wanted to drive off and leave Peter behind, but being alone didn't make him feel any safer. His mind battled him as he waited inside the jeep.

His heart and mind kept questioning if he should really trust the former Alpha. Derek and Dr. Deaton warned both he and Scott of Peter's possible plans. Yet, so far, Peter had done the best to protect Stiles, despite his status as a human. But, Stiles still had this lingering feeling that Peter wasn't a werewolf to trust.

Crickets and hooting owls echoed around his jeep. Fear tinged his heart, causing him to slowly muttered possible death scenarios. He sunk further down into his seat, his head below the windowsill. He listened carefully, but his heartbeat was so loud that he knew he was giving away his position if a werewolf was nearby.

Then, he heard the sound of snapping twinges and ruffling of leaves. Cautiously, Stiles lifted his head up, his eyes barely visible above the windowsill. His eyes scanned the area, but he could see nothing coming from the woods.

Feeling a surge of courage, Stiles cracked open his jeep's door, peaking his head out. "Peter?"

No one responded and, feeling more courageous, Stiles opened the door further and stepped out. He didn't close the door, but he stood nearby, ready to jump back in any moment.

Stiles edged away, but his feet pointed in the jeep's direction. He peered at the trees, trying his best to see any werewolf lurking in the woods. Shadows of long limbed branches tricked Stiles's mind and he soon couldn't tell what he was looking at. He heard another sound of twinges breaking and snapped his attention to the noise.

"Peter is that you?" asked Stiles. "Derek?"

Stiles gulped when no one responded again. Feeling flustered and anxious, Stiles turned back to his jeep when he saw someone standing not afar from his jeep. His lungs expanded and his heart nearly gave out, but he caught himself from dropping to the ground like a cut puppet. He gripped his chest and his breathing became ragged as he tried to calm himself down. But, as he got a good look of the person on the road, his heart simply started to beat faster.

It was Harold.

The Original didn't smile. "Hello Stiles."

Stiles didn't speak. He rushed to his jeep, jumping in, and putting it into drive. He slammed on the accelerator, the jeep's tires spinning out of control before jolting forward down the road. Beads of cold sweat bedded along his hairline as he tried to drive away from Harold.

They have found him. Peter must have sensed them before being taken out by them. Or he could have betrayed him.

Stiles missed Harold on the road, driving as fast as possible out of harm's way. But, to his disappointment, the Original's servant rushed out and slammed its body against Stiles's jeep.

Stiles lost control.

His jeep spun wildly around before crashing into a tree, smashing the front end into pieces. Stiles, weak and pain erupting all over his body, tried to refocus. After all the spinning, he felt dizzy and the crash placed sores all around his body, making it nearly impossible for him to move.

Stiles reached for the door, wincing and crying. When he reached out for the door handle, he noticed the odd, unusual shape of a bone in his arm. It was piercing out from its placement. Stiles swore. His arm was broken.

Yet, fear and determinism gave him the strength to get out of the jeep. He opened the door and fell out. Blood dripped onto the dried leaves from the cuts and gashes on his face and arms. Glass pieces from the shattered windshield fell off his laps to the ground, littered like sparkle diamonds.

Stiles crawled away from the wreckage, trying to find shelter before the Originals found him. He didn't get two paces away before a clawed hand gripped his shirt's collar, lifting him off the ground. Stiles moaned and whimpered as excruciating pain shot through his body. Finally, the werewolf dropped him and Stiles crumbled back to Earth.

Stiles heard more feet approaching. His breathing steady, Stiles looked back up into the eyes of Harold.

Harold looked down at Stiles with no emotion. Stiles did not see pity or regret in his eyes. Stiles's eyes stung because he knew what his fate. Death.

"Please," said Stiles.

Harold sighed. "Stiles, Stiles, Stiles," he said. "I would've never thought of you to be a hunter. But, then again, your father is the sheriff. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised."

Stiles's body shook. Not from the cold, but from the pain and fear that was consuming him every minute. Harold could sense the boy's fear.

"It's been a long time," continued Harold. "And, I'm truly sorry what I have to do to you."

Stiles shook his head, tears now forming in his eyes. "Please…don't," he said. "My…my dad!"

"Will heal in time," answered Harold, looking up at his two werewolf comrades.

Harold motioned to his two werewolves. "Finish him. And make sure he dies a quick and painless death."

Harold turned around, walking away as the two werewolves, grinning, stalked upon their injured prey. Stiles slowly backed away, but his injuries set him back. Winding down with options, Stiles started calling for Peter and Derek. Anybody.

The two werewolves chuckled, enjoying the power they held over a completely useless human. The first werewolf bent down and struck his claws across Stiles's chest. Stiles's body flew to the right, his shirt ripping and blood spurting.

Stiles swore as a wave of fresh pain ran over him. Bleeding in the chest, Stiles rested his injured arm across it, hoping to slow the bleeding. With his free arm, he tried to crawl away from the two werewolves. However, the two werewolves enjoyed toying with their plaything.

Some painless death, thought Stiles as he slouched by the tree. Rapidly loosing blood, Stiles began to feel his life drain away from him. The two werewolves became smeared images as they approached him with cruel intentions.

"Well…looks like it's getting spoiled," said the werewolf. "Do you care to do the honors, Flynn?"

The other werewolf shrugged. He was younger than the other one with brown hair and sharp, hazel eyes. He didn't seem as interested as killing Stiles as much as the other one.

Flynn was about to answer when Stiles saw that his ears perked up. Stiles had seen that signal before. Peter did it when he sensed the Originals and Scott always did it as well when he sensed danger. Too weak to try to see, Stiles listened and heard the sound of a more rage full predator.

"Get away from my friend."

_**BREAK**_

When he heard Scott's voice, Stiles got a jolt of life back into him. He craned his neck to see if he could find Scott, but the pain became unbearable. He slouched back down, praying that Scott could take on these two werewolves on his own.

The two werewolves snarled at Scott's presence. "Who do you think you are, boy?"

Scott didn't feel threatened. When he came across his bloodied friend, a frenzy broke inside of him and all he wanted to do was rip those werewolves' throats out.

The two werewolves growled, taking their stance in front of Scott, their claws curling out and hair amongst their chin growing. Theirs eyes changed to a bright, threatening color. Scott had made upon their kill list.

Stiles, not wanting to see his friend hurt, called out. "Run! Get out of here!"

But, Scott refused. Instead, his claws stretched out from his fingertips and his jaw line grew spiky black hair. His eyes glowed yellow and he let slipped an unearthly howl.

The two werewolves were surprised before making the connection. "The traitorous werewolf," said Flynn.

Scott bared his teeth. "Yep."

The two werewolves charged at Scott, but the young werewolf dodged them, flipping over them, and kicking them both in the back. The werewolves fell, but stealthily and quickly recovered. Flynn climbed up a tree and somersaulted in the air as the other werewolf attacked from the side, distracting Scott.

Yet, Scott managed to turn away from Flynn's attack, but he was forced into a tree. Scott back-flipped over the approaching werewolf and high-kicked Flynn backwards. The other werewolf sped around Scott so fast that Scott lost sight of the werewolf until it was too late. The werewolf jumped from behind, slamming both himself and Scott to the ground.

Realizing his disadvantage, Scott pulled out the bag that Dr. Deaton gave to him. Painfully, Scott took a small palm full of the mixture. Sheltering his eyes, Scott threw the mixture into the werewolf's face.

The werewolf hollered, stumbling away. He tried to wipe away the mixture, but it was too late. The werewolf bent over in pain, falling don to his knees. He howled and Scott understood. He was calling for help.

Flynn witnessed the attack and charged back at Scott. The young werewolf rolled away, jumping up in time to counter-attack Flynn's next move. But, the rage full werewolf was growing more power from his anger. His moves were too quick for the now weakened Scott, due to carrying the Deaton's mixture and holding it in his hands. Scott tried his best to block them all and counter-attack, but he was slowly losing.

Then, Flynn got the upper hand and surprised Scott by punching him in side. Scott flew off his feet, his body colliding with a tree, breaking chunks off its trunk. Scott collapsed, tired and his mind dull.

Flynn marched up to Scott, staring accusingly at him. "You're going to welcome death."

Scott blinked. His eyes wondered around the ground, searching for any sign of Stiles. He found his best friend a few yards away. He had crawled away from the tree, but his body lied limped on the ground.

Scott wanted to crawl over to his friend, check to see if he was alive, but Flynn blocked his path. He revealed his curled fingers and slashed at Scott's face.

Scott's head swung to the right. His ears buzzed loudly and blood squirted out from the fresh wounds. The mixture started to take its full effect on him now. He wished he didn't touch the mixture, but it was too late.

Darkness began swallowed him. Fear and helplessness claimed him, wrapping around him tightly like a boa constrictor. He struggled and fought his way through, but more darkness enveloped him.

Soon, Scott lost his strength and he drifted along with the wave of peace. But, as he settled into the depths, he could hear a voice speaking. Someone was telling Flynn to stop.

_**BREAK**_

Flynn was confused as to why the teen was losing strength. He didn't mind, but he knew that he didn't put that much of an effort that would cause one to black out. But, he saw the teen's hand and remembered the boy threw some sort of magical dust into his companion's eyes causing him to go crazy and stop moving. Maybe the dust was now affecting the practitioner.

Flynn slashed his claws into the young werewolf's face. Blood sprayed everywhere, including Flynn's clothes, but he didn't care. He wanted to take care of both the human and the traitorous werewolf once and for all.

As the young werewolf slowly drifted out of conscious, Flynn raised his clawed fingers to strike the young werewolf's neck, finishing the deed.

Growling heroically, his claws came swooshing down.

"Stop!"

The new voice surprised Flynn that he did stop and jumped back. Harold stood behind him, restlessness in his eyes. Flynn bowed, but glanced back at the now unconscious werewolf.

"My Lord," said Flynn. "We believe that this is the traitorous werewolf your brother spoke of."

Harold walked forward, squatting down next to the unconscious werewolf. His eyes examined over the teen and Flynn grew more quizzical by the way Harold looked. It seemed, to Flynn, that Harold knew the child.

Harold continued examining the werewolf, pulling out a bag that contained the mixture that weakened Flynn's companion. The Original sniffed it, but then immediately pocketed it.

"Do you desire for me to kill him, my Lord?" asked Flynn, wondering if Harold wanted the werewolf dead.

Harold stood up; his face carved with furrowed eyebrows and sharp, brimstone color eyes. "I'll deal with the young werewolf," he said.

Flynn, afraid, bowed his head in agreement. "Then, do you wish me to finish off the human child?"

Harold flickered a glance to where Stiles laid sprawled out. "Take him to the hospital," said Harold after much thinking. "Tell the doctors you saw the jeep crunched up against the tree and rushed the driver to the hospital. Don't give him your real name."

Flynn was bewildered. "But, sir," he said. "He's a hunter! He tried to kill your…"

"Leave the family business to me," growled Harold. "Just follow orders."

Flynn bowed his head in respect. Harold knelt down and scooped up the young werewolf in his arms. For Flynn, it seemed weird to see how gentle Harold was to the unknown werewolf who tried to kill his brother.

"What are you doing with him, my Lord?" asked Flynn.

Harold readjusted the boy in his arms. "None of your concern," he said, walking to the road. "And, it's none of the family's concern either. You shall speak of this incident to no one. Understand?"

Flynn bowed his head again. "What shall I tell your father, my Lord?"

"Think of something," said Harold as he carried the young werewolf out of the woods.

_**BREAK**_

As Flynn lifted the crippled human from the ground and tried his best to get his companion focused to listen to him, Peter Hale watched from the distance.

He watched the whole fight and was seemingly impressed with Scott's new fighting skills. Peter hid amongst the trees, guessing that Derek informed Scott of the change of plans (or failure).

Peter smiled. His plan was coming closer to fruition. He had hoped that Scott wouldn't arrive in time to save his dear friend, Stiles, but it didn't make much of a difference if Stiles was alive or not.

Flynn carried Stiles's bloodied body from the battleground as the other companion went in the opposite direction, probably going back to headquarters to repeat the lies Harold told them to tell.

Peter tug on his jacket around him tighter and walked away from the scene, still happy to know his plan was still moving forward.


	22. Chapter 22: Address

**Chapter 22: Address**

Harold carried Scott's unconscious body home. He easily picked the lock. He remembered where his son slept and took him to his bedroom. He clicked his tongue at the mess, but he placed his tired son onto the bed.

Scott groaned, but his eyes didn't open. Harold pulled the blanket over his son's body. He watched over his son for a moment, staring at his face. The hair along his jaw line sank back into the skin and his nose returned to his normal structure. He now looked like a regular teenage boy.

But, behind that mask, was a true Original werewolf.

Harold glanced around his son's bedroom. It has changed drastically since he remembered. There were no more posters of famous athletes, no toy box, and, more importantly, a computer replaced coloring books on his desk.

Harold swiftly moved across the room to the computer. He sat down and searched through his son's information. He discovered his son's Facebook page, reading up on posts. Most were from Stiles, but there was one from Argent. Allison Argent.

He clicked on her name, coming up with her Facebook page. He searched through her information, learning about her likes and favorites. He turned to the pictures, examining the beautiful brown hair and eyed girl. He flipped through many, until one managed to stop his heart. It was a picture of the girl with his son.

They looked at each other with smiles and fondness. Harold could see the love in his son's eyes for the girl in front of him. His brown eyes brightened to such a unusual brown. The girl, as he could see, contained similar feelings for his son. But, there was also a controversy. Betrayal.

Harold grew angry. His claws came out, scratching the mouse. An Argent had captured his son's heart. The archenemy of the Originals had lured his son into their grasp. Harold glanced over to his son. Did the Argents know about his son's lineage? Is that why the Argent girl felt betrayal?

Harold exited out. Frustration darkened his eyes. With a deep breath, he pulled the raging wolf back inside of him. How many other people knew about Scott's heritage?

Harold exited Scott's bedroom and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. He needed some tea and space to think and shake off his anger. He placed the kettle on the stove and turned it on, the black iron circles burning. Harold searched for the tea packets, finding them behind the coffee tin.

Harold reached up to get a mug. But, as he did, he thought about Melissa. How long did she know about Scott? Did she ever know? Of course! She's his mother. She would have recognized—or at least know—about Scott's newfound heritage.

But, why didn't she tell me, thought Harold. She should have told me.

Maybe she was afraid. Afraid like before. Harold remembered her desire to let Scott be human, refusing the plan to let another Alpha bite her child. She put her foot down and declared that nature wanted it this way. Harold grew stubborn, but Dr. Deaton told him to give Scott time to come into his powers. So, Harold had been doing that only to discover that his son had been a werewolf for sometime.

The kettle started to whistle. He turned back around and removed the kettle from the burning stovetop. As he set the kettle aside, he heard the sounds of tires screeching to a halt outside the house.

She was home.

_**BREAK**_

Melissa came home late that night to find her house lit up. She didn't recall leaving lights on when she left for work. Her eyes moved up to the second floor, to Scott's bedroom window. The lights were on there as well and she relaxed. Scott arrived home from camping.

Melissa walked into her house, the door unlocked. "Scott? Hey sweetie!" he called. "I'm home! How was camping? Did Stiles burn anything this time?"

No answer came and Melissa shook her head tiredly. Work stressed her mind, her forehead aching at every pulse. She would put a pot of water to make tea and check up on her son. Knowing Scott, he was fast asleep on his bed.

Melissa put her coat in the closet and made her way to the kitchen. She turned the corner to already see a pot of steaming water. Confused, she turned to the table to see her ex-husband sitting with two steamy mugs of tea.

Harold didn't look up. He lifted up one of the mugs out to Melissa. "It's herbal," he said.

Melissa paused in the archway. Then, she stepped toward the table and dropped her bag in the center. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you not to come back."

Harold's dark eyes moved to Melissa's innocent eyes. "I didn't come back for you," he answered. "I came back for Scott."

Melissa face darkened and her stance turned into a lioness protecting a cub. "Scott doesn't need you," she said, sternly. "He never needed you."

Harold's eyebrows rose, but he didn't say anything. He lifted his own mug and took a sip. Melissa grew angrier with Harold's relaxed, yet, knowing presence. He had something up his sleeve.

"Did you go to the courts?" Melissa demanded. "We agreed, remember? You gave me full custody."

Harold shook his head, but Melissa kept rattling out accusations at him.

"What? Did you go to the police to say I'm a bad mother?" she argued. "Because I've been a good mother to him! I've worked my ass off for him to give him a normal life."

"Mel," said Harold, standing up, but Melissa's eyebrows creased at a sharp angle.

"Don't you _dare_ call me that," she said. "You—."

"Melissa," tried Harold, reaching out to her.

Melissa pulled away from him. "Get out of my house!"

Harold sighed. "No."

"No?" repeated Melissa, her eyes fallen to slits. "No?"

"No," affirmed Harold, crossing his arms. "We need to talk."

"Talk about what?" asked Melissa, incredulously. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Let me help you then," said Harold. "Oh here. I got one. Try saying, 'our son's a werewolf'?"

Melissa's heart stopped. Her eyes now widened, mouth gaped open, and muscles seizing up. Harold looked concerned at his ex-wife, touching her shoulders and listening to her pulse. Maybe she didn't know after all.

"Melissa?" he said.

Melissa pushed Harold's hands off of her. "You're lying. Scott's…he's not…he's not a werewolf."

Harold didn't seem surprised. It was in a werewolf's nature to be sneaky. "He didn't tell you."

"Scott tells me everything," Melissa stated, stubbornly. "Something like turning into a werewolf would be one of them."

"Then why did I see him with claws and defeating two of my pack members?" questioned Harold.

Melissa had no answer. She remained quiet, briefly, before shaking her head. "No...Scott can't be. Dr. Deaton, he said—."

"He lied," said Harold. "Probably to make you feel better."

Harold pulled a chair out under the table and gestured Melissa to sit down. Melissa slowly took the seat, still mortified and doubtful of the knowledge she learned. Harold took his place and passed the other mug to Melissa. She didn't reject it.

"Deaton told me years ago that Scott might one day grow into his werewolf heritage," said Harold.

Melissa didn't speak.

"I always figured he would become one when he was younger," Harold spoke. "But, I guess it was puberty that brought it out of him."

Melissa's eyes were wet. Tears filled her eyes and slid down her rosy cheek. Harold felt pity on her. He remembered the day she learned of his own nature. How she shrieked and grabbed a butcher knife to protect herself and the unborn child. It had taken him weeks to get her to talk to him and, finally, she accepted his werewolf nature.

But, he also remembered how relieved she was to learn that her new baby was not a werewolf. That his werewolf gene remained dormant. She smiled so brightly at hearing the news, her soul relieved of the possible stress a werewolf child would bring to her.

Harold placed his hand over hers. "Don't worry Mel," he said. "We'll work things out. I'll help train Scott. I'll take him to France and he can come back during the summer…"

Melissa snapped out of her spell. "What?" she said, disgusted. "No! You're not taking my son away from me!"

"Mel—."

"NO!" cried Melissa. "I don't care what he is! He's _my_ son and he's not going anywhere! He's not going to France! He's not going to live with you and your…traveling pack! He's staying here…in Beacon Hills."

"Now, get out," finished Melissa, standing up, "and don't come back."

_**BREAK**_

Scott jerked awake when he heard his mother's scream.

He didn't even think when he jumped out of his bed and ran out the door. He never moved so quickly in his life. He rambled down the stairs, jumping the last few steps.

"Mom?" Scott cried. "Mom!"

Scott sprinted into the kitchen, but came to a sudden halt. Standing only a few feet apart were his mother and father. Together. His mother's face was brightly red, while his father had a cool, calm expression. He didn't seem at all threatened or concerned by Melissa's growing anger.

When Scott entered, however, the two immediately turned their attention to him. Melissa's face fell into a panic mode. Harold seemed pleased to see his son, unusual for Scott, and smiled.

"Hey kiddo," he said, solemnly.

Melissa walked over to Scott. "Go back upstairs."

Scott glanced between his mother and father. "What's he doing here," said Scott.

Harold didn't blink. He stayed in his relax stance, but he seemed more asserted with himself in the confrontation between his mother…and Scott. A proud, small smile appeared on his face.

"Don't you remember Scott?" questioned Harold.

Scott gave a quizzical stare. He remembered running after Stiles and fighting against two werewolves. But, his last memory was of Stiles trying to crawl away as a werewolf approached him.

"Stiles!" said Scott, and he turned to leave.

Harold appeared next to him and grabbed his son's wrist, jerking him back into the kitchen.

"Let me go!" cried Scott, trying to pull away from his father.

Harold refused. "He's fine."

"After your men tried to kill him!" shot Scott, again, trying to budge out of Harold's grasp.

"I told you—."

A piercing sound erupted around them. Scott watched as Harold's face flew to the side as his hold on Scott slipped. Scott stumbled backwards and looked at his mother.

Harold turned to his attacker. Melissa stood protectively next to her son, frowning. "Don't you dare...touch my son."

Harold and Scott stood still, shocked. Scott had never seen his mother hit anyone before. Melissa never wished harmed onto people. Harold stared at her, bewildered, as he never experienced Melissa's full wrath before.

Melissa pulled her son to her, placing herself in front out of protectiveness. "Leave Harold," she ordered. "Now!"

Harold rubbed his cheek, but he didn't move an inch. Scott tried to move in front of his mother, but she refused to budge.

Harold took a deep breath, staring down at his ex-wife and child. "I'm sorry you feel threatened by my presence," said Harold, sincerely. "But I'm not here to cause any trouble. I'm here to help."

"By trying to kill Stiles?" barked Scott.

Harold drew his eyes to Scott. "I told you before," he said. "Stiles is fine. He's at the hospital. Being treated."

"I don't believe you," said Scott.

Harold shrugged. "That's your problem, not mine."

Melissa gaped at Harold. "You tried to kill Stiles?"

"No…he simply got in the way," said Harold, "and like I said before, he's fine. My men took him to the hospital to get treated."

Scott and Melissa looked at each other, wondering if they should trust him. Scott shook his head and Melissa went to the phone. Harold sighed frustratingly.

"I'm telling the truth," he said.

Melissa called the hospital and talked with one of the nurses. Meanwhile, Scott and Harold stared evenly at each other, daring the other to speak first. Scott glared at his father with hatred while his father stared at him with interest.

Scott sneered at his father. "Stiles had nothing to do with this."

"That's not what my brother said," said Harold.

"He was trying to protect me from _your_ brother!"

Harold folded his arms. He had a look of interest upon his face before cracking a smile of great surprise. "So, you're the wolf that gave my brother a hard time?"

Scott didn't answer, but Harold knew and he let out a hearty laugh.

"Well, if anyone can give him a challenge," said Harold. "I'm glad it was my own son."

Scott frowned, nearly snarling out the words, "I'm not your son."

Melissa hung up the phone. Scott anxiously awaited an answer from his mother. Melissa solemnly nodded.

"He's okay," she said to Scott. "He's at the hospital under critical condition. They say he's going to make a full recovery."

Scott breathed in relief. "I'm going to see him," he said, but Melissa stopped him.

"He's with his father right now," she said. "You can see him tomorrow."

"But—."

Melissa gave him a look and Scott closed his mouth. There was no point in arguing with her.

Melissa rubbed her tired, stressed face. "Okay, Scott, go upstairs to your bedroom," she said, pointing to the second floor, before whispering, "and lock it."

"Locking it won't keep a werewolf out, sweetheart," said Harold.

Melissa and Scott glared at him. "I wasn't talking to you," Melissa said.

"I know," replied Harold. "I'm just saying it's pointless to tell him to go upstairs and lock his door."

"Why?" asked Scott. "You planning on killing me like you tried to do with Stiles?"

Harold glowered at him. "Why would I want to kill you, Scott?"

"Because I defied you," said Scott. "Isn't that the code? Kill those that defy the Originals?"

Melissa gasped at Scott. "Scott—how did you—."

Harold rolled his eyes. "I told you Melissa," he said as the mother and son looked at him. "He's a werewolf."

Melissa turned back to her son, her eyes widened and lips parting in horror. "Scott? Is that..."

Scott wanted to rip his father's throat out. The terrified look on his mother's face banged his heart repeatedly. "Mom…I wanted to tell you…"

Melissa's chest heaved as she dealt with the shocking blow. Scott tried to help her, but she backed away. Scott cringed at the rejection.

"Mom—."

"I can't believe…my own son…but you were human!" cried Melissa. "Dr. Deaton…"

"Like I told you before," interrupted Harold. "Dr. Deaton lied to you."

"Shut up!" roared Scott.

"No," said Harold and he took a big step toward Melissa and Scott. "I'm not here to comfort or give out tissues."

Scott narrowed his eyes at him. "Then why are you here?" questioned Scott. "Why are you and your pack here?"

Harold inclined his head, shadows across his face. "You already know the answer."

Melissa looked between Harold and Scott. "What do you mean? Scott?"

Scott turned to his mother, who stared at him with concern and utter horrid. "It's nothing Mom," he said, hoping to quell her fear. "It's been taken care of."

Melissa didn't feel better. "What did you do? You didn't—you didn't use your…"

Scott shook his head. "No! No, of course not. No! I'm not like that," he said. "I'm not like," Scott took a sideway glance at his father, "I'm not like them."

Harold's jaw tightened. "Yes, well, we can all pay catch up, but my time is running short here."

"What do you mean?" asked Scott.

"The guards would have returned to my father by now," said Harold. "He'll want to know where I am. He'll send a search party soon."

"Then go! Get out!" cried Scott, fearing for his mother's safety.

"Not without you."

Melissa stepped back in front of her son. She spread her arms wide, shielding him from Harold. "You're not taking him," she said. "He's my son. He belongs here."

"He belongs with his family," countered Harold. "His pack."

Scott stepped aside from his mother. "I won't join your pack," he said. "I'm not interested."

"You don't have a choice," said Harold. "When the rest of the family finds out about you…well, let's just say choice is out of the question."

"Is that a threat?" demanded Melissa, looking on with warning eyes.

Harold was slightly amused. "It's the truth. No one says no to my father," he said. "No exceptions from family members either."

"Says the man who never told his own father that he has a child," countered Scott.

Harold's eyes fell onto Scott. "My father never asked what I did here in the States," he answered, "And I never told him."

"Because you were a shame of me."

Melissa gasped at Scott's accusation. Harold's eyes, however, turned into slits. "What did Dr. Deaton tell you?"

Scott felt the tension steaming from his father. "Doesn't matter what he said," stated Scott. "What matters is that you get out of town. Far away from here…from us."

"I can't do that," said Harold, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Not yet anyway."

Melissa glared at Harold. "Why are you here, Harold? Huh? Really? Because I want to know," she said. "You obviously didn't know about Scott's…condition, until now. So, what are you doing back in Beacon Hills?"

"Nothing that concerns you," he said, and then looked back to Scott. "But it does have something to do between me and Scott. So, if you don't mind…"

Harold moved to grab Scott, but Melissa blocked his way. "Well, he made it pretty clear he's not interested," she stated. "Right Scott?"

Scott nodded, supporting his mother.

Harold looked between his son and ex-wife, standing united in front of him. It was the first time they have ever united against him.

"You think I'm here to ruin your lives," Harold began, staring fiercely at the two. "I'm not. I'm here to help. Scott—."

Scott flickered a glance at his father.

"You're a werewolf," said Harold. "And not just any werewolf. Hunters will come for you. Those people—Stiles, Derek—they won't be able to protect you. You need to be with your own kind to help you with this transition. To protect you."

Harold held out his hand. "Please, son, by coming with me, you'll learn to deal with these new powers. I'll protect you. And, your mother—."

Melissa stared questioningly at him.

"Your mother," continued Harold. "Will be safe. If you stay here, she'll definitely be in constant danger. Do you really want to risk her life?"

Scott stared disgustingly at his father's reached hand. "Like I said before," he said. "I'm not interested in joining your pack."

Harold retracted his hand and pocketed in his jacket. "I see, well," he said. "Looks like you made your decision. Goodbye."

Melissa and Scott waited for more, but Harold didn't say anything else. He turned and walked down the hallway to the front door. Melissa and Scott followed him. Harold opened the front door and stepped out into the night weather. He readjusted his jacket just as wolves howled in the distance.

"Oh and Scott," said Harold, looking back at his alerted son, "Good luck."

With that last statement, Harold turned back and walked away from the McCall's house. Melissa and Scott watched him for a while, making sure the darkness swallowed him.

Once he disappeared from view, Melissa slammed the door closed and locked it quickly.

Scott shuffled nervously, feeling guilt for not informing his mother about his new condition. "Mom…"

Melissa held her finger up. "Not now, Scott," she said. "I need to think. Regain my senses again."

Scott nodded gloomily. "Okay…I guess, we'll talk about this tomorrow?"

Melissa nodded. "Yeah, sure," she said, checking her watch. "It's late. You need to get to bed. _I_ need to get to bed."

Melissa bypassed Scott and headed up the stairs, creaking each step she took. Scott watched his mother go to her room, listening to the door open and close. Scott stalked back to the front door, looking out the window to check if his father was out there still.

There were no signs of Harold, but it didn't make the hairs along his spinal cord go down. Scott knew his father surrendered to easily and wondered what his plan was. Scott looked back upstairs, listening for his mother's soft heartbeat. It was still there, but it was no longer soft. It was raging.

Scott sighed exasperatedly. He and his mother have a lot to talk about. But, for right now, they deserved a peaceful slumber before everything unraveled in front of them.


	23. Chapter 23: Anywhere

**Chapter 23: Anywhere**

Scott woke up before his mother did, sneaking off to the hospital to visit his friend. His mother would disapprove of him leaving right after his father returned to Beacon Hills. However, Scott needed to see Stiles and apologize. It was, after all, his fault why Stiles got attacked by Alpha werewolves.

Before exiting out of his bedroom window, Scott scanned the grounds. He sensed no other supernatural creatures. Scott climbed out and jumped down to the ground. He pulled out his bike and hopped on, cycling away as fast as he could. When he arrived outside the hospital doors, he threw his bike away from him and went into the building. The front nurse recognized him as Melissa's son and led him straight to Stiles.

Stiles was asleep in his hospital cot, wrapped tightly in blankets and white hospital bandages. His tongue stuck slightly out of his gaping mouth. The nurse left Scott alone, telling him he only had fifteen minutes. Scott pushed a chair toward the cot, sitting down and hoping Stiles would wake up. He had so much to say and ask his friend.

After the first few minutes, Stiles' eyes fidgeted and blinked. Scott stood up, examining his friend's waking face. "Stiles?"

Stiles groaned. "Scott…do you know what time it is?"

Scott checked the clock outside in the hallway. "It's nearly eight."

"And it's still my bedtime," added Stiles, shifting in his cot, grimacing. "Are you okay?"

Scott stared exasperatedly. "You're worried about me? I'm not the one in the hospital."

Stiles' brows wrinkled in. "Yeah you are."

Scott rolled his eyes. "I mean, not for medical reasons," he said, scanning, again, his friend's injuries. "How you feeling?"

"You mean emotionally or physically?"

"Either."

"Emotionally, I'm exhausted," answered Stiles. "Physically, I'm in a shit load of pain."

Scott sunk back into the chair. "I'm sorry man," he said. "I messed up. I shouldn't have left you alone, especially with Derek. Hell, I shouldn't have dragged you into this whole thing."

Scott dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I'm so sorry."

Stiles stared incredulously at his friend. "Scott, I'm not dying. So, you don't have to go into this heroic, pitiful speech. You know me, happy to join in the adventures."

Scott rubbed his face. "Yes, but—."

"Shut up," said Stiles, "I don't want to hear it. Save it for when I am actually dying."

Scott didn't say anything more. He sat in silence as Stiles tried to sit up. Scott helped him up on the cot and, when Stiles got situated, asked his friend a question.

"Did they, um, bite you?" questioned Scott. "The, uh, werewolves?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, they just tossed me around like a rag doll. Plus, wreck my jeep."

"But they didn't bite you?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nah…they were a bit too focused on simply torturing and killing me."

Then, his eyes grew round and his heart monitor beeped quicker. "Scott! Your dad! I saw your dad! He was there. He—."

"I know," said Scott. "My mom and I had a chat with him."

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. "Scott, your dad…no offence…is an ass."

"No offense taken."

"He ordered those two to kill me," said Stiles. "It's like he didn't give a damn that we knew each other!"

Scott gaped at his friend. "My dad? He ordered your death?!"

Stiles nodded. "But, then again, he also ordered the two take me to the hospital."

Scott gripped the armrests, not hearing Stiles. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Easy there," said Stiles. "I'm fine overall. Need to stay in the hospital for another day or so, but I'm all right. No need to face your dad again. Remember what Derek said?"

"What? To stay away from the Alphas?" said Scott. "Yeah, I remember, but it's too late for that. My Dad already knows of my werewolf existence."

Stiles groaned loudly. "So, how long will it be until they come for you?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know, but my dad made it sound like it will be soon."

"So, he's definitely coming for you then?"

"Possibly," said Scott. "I don't really get the family letters, do I?"

"Well, eventually, they'll come after us again," said Stiles. "Right? I mean, they meant to kill the two of us. They failed. So, they're going to hunt us again."

"I don't know," said Scott. "I—honestly have no idea. My Dad made it sound as if he handled it, but I don't know what his "handling" means compared to ours."

"Probably killing," said Stiles. "Those Alphas just lust for blood."

Scott stared at him uncomfortably. "I'm not blood lusted. I don't desire blood."

"That's probably why Dr. Deaton says you're special," said Stiles. "You don't crave blood."

"Thank you human genes," muttered Scott. "So, um, are there any guards around you?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, of course not. To them, I simply got into a bad car wreck. They don't know about the you-know-whats."

Scott frowned. "But what if they come back? Change their minds? How will you protect yourself?"

Stiles pondered. "Uh…maybe have you be on guard? I don't know. I can't exactly have a gun in here, can I?"

"I can't exactly leave you here unarmed," said Scott, "and they're not going to let me hang around either. Especially my mother now that she knows everything."

Stiles closed his eyes and Scott knew that his friend was concentrating. "Well, without those special bullets, shooting them will only piss them off more."

"I know that," said Scott, huffing and slouching forward. "We got to find out where Peter put those bullets."

Stiles shifted in his cot. "Well, good luck finding him. He bailed when they showed up. Can't believe we still trust that snitch."

"Not _we_…Derek," grumbled Scott.

"What happened with Peter anyway?" asked Scott. "Derek said he was supposed to be with you, but—."

"I don't know where the hell he went," explained Stiles. "He ditched me when the Alphas came."

Scott's eyes glowed as his muscles tensed up. His chin started to grow prickles and his breathing picked up. Stiles became alarmed.

"What are you doing?" he ordered. "Calm down!"

"_He left you to die!_" cried Scott, "That—."

Scott stopped when his face was splashed with cold water. He blinked quickly and rubbed his eyes. As he readjusted his eyes, Scott saw Stiles return an empty cup back on his swirl table.

"Why did you do that?" asked Scott.

"Because you were loosing yourself," responded Stiles. "Now, focus, we need to find a way to get these Alphas out of town."

"Not such an easy tasks," said Scott, dabbing his face with the end of the shirt. "Without those bullets, we're helpless."

"Not really," said Stiles. "You're an Original. You can stop them, can't you?"

"One against a boatload is not winning odds."

There was a tap at the door and the front nurse opened the door. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Stilenski needs rest."

Scott nodded and turned back to this friend. "I'll be back again…this time with a plan."

"Great," murmured Stiles. "In the meantime, I'll wait for death to burst down my door."

"That's not funny."

Stiles shrugged. "Either way, I'm not going anywhere."

Scott said goodbye to his friend and the front nurse led him down the hallway. She stared at Scott's face with sympathy and then patted him on the back with great care.

"I'm sorry about your friend," she said. "It must be very hard for you."

Scott nodded, but didn't say anything. The nurse smiled sadly. "We'll do our best to care for him. You are welcomed to come tomorrow morning."

Scott thanked the nurse and exited out of the hospital. He stepped outside with a cold feeling and numbness. His mind was exploding with so much problems and emotions that it seemed to be shutting down on him.

Without any thought, Scott lifted his bike off the ground and rolled it to the parking lot. He didn't even noticed that someone was watching him until Scott nearly ran his bike into him.

"How is he?" asked Derek, who looked just as worn down as Stiles and Scott. "Is he going to make it?"

Scott pulled his bike away from Derek. "Yeah and no thanks to you."

"I wouldn't give you any credit either," countered Derek. "Stiles wouldn't be in this mess if you didn't attack the Alphas first."

"I was trying to protect the people I care about," said Scott. "Something you _can't_ understand."

Derek's eye flashed red and his hand snatched Scott's neck, closing his windpipe. Scott gripped on Derek's hands as the lungs slowly collapsed.

"You need to watch that mouth of yours, kid," said Derek. "Have you forgotten already how many times I have saved your friends' lives?"

Scott glared at Derek, but he knew the older werewolf was right. Derek did save his friends multiple times before. When Scott nodded his head, Derek released his grasp and Scott swallowed in as much air as he could.

"Why weren't you watching him?" asked Scott. "I told you to stay and look after Stiles? Why did you leave him?"

"I didn't," said Derek and Scott lifted his brows. "Well—Peter had a plan."

"Peter? Again, you trust him?" said Scott, creases forming across his forehead. "After everything he has done, you still listen to that lunatic."

"He's my uncle!"

"Who killed your sister!"

Derek bit his lower lip, struggling. He huffed, his nose flaring. "Peter came up with a plan that would have kept Stiles safe."

"And, yet, Stiles' in the hospital," said Scott. "Fantastic plan."

"Well, it didn't work because we underestimated them," said Derek. "I'm surprised that neither of you two idiots are dead. Why didn't they finish off Stiles?"

Scott shrugged, nonchalantly. "Maybe they grew a heart unlike someone I know."

Derek snarled at him. "Again, how many times have I saved your annoying friends because of your dumb mistakes?"

"Doesn't matter," said Scott. "Stiles is still in danger of being whacked off."

"Okay, this isn't the mafia," said Derek.

"Close enough," said Scott, "and I'm not going to let them kill him for something that I did. Okay? So, if you excuse me."

Scott hopped onto his bike, pedaling, but Derek blocked him. "Where are you going?"

"I need to find Peter," said Scott. "Stiles is still in danger. He's not exactly in good fighting condition."

"Well, aren't you a hypocrite?" stated Derek. "Telling me that I'm wrong for working with Peter, but here you are off trying to find him for help."

"I'm not asking for help," said Scott, "and I don't trust him either. I just need those bullets. The ones he took the other night. I need them to protect everyone from the Originals."

"Such as yourself."

"Stop saying that!" cried Scott. "I'm not one of them."

"That reminds me," said Derek, stepping closer to Scott. His eyes narrowed in thought as he looked straight into Scott's eyes. "Did they recognize you?"

"Who? The Alphas guard dogs?"

Derek nodded, unnervingly. "Yeah, they didn't get any, uh, senses off you, did they?"

"If they did, would I be standing in front of you right now?"

Derek paused, but then nodded his head. "Right. Okay—well, good luck in finding Peter. He's probably miles away from this joint."

Derek walked off, heading back to his black, sport's car. Scott breathed a sigh of relief. Derek could read that he lied. As soon Derek was off, Scott biked hurriedly to his house, jumping off his bike, and running into the house.

_**BREAK**_

Scott's mother was awake, sitting at the table her pajamas still on and a robe around her. She looked up when Scott entered the kitchen, her face relieved of the tensions that had bored into her since she woke up to discover her son missing.

Melissa got up and rushed over to her son. "Oh my God!" she said. "I thought…I thought they took you!"

Her arms embraced him as a wave of guilt washed over Scott. He returned her hug, apologizing.

"No, I'm fine," he said. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I just went to see Stiles…"

Melissa broke free and wiped her eyes that held a few droplets of tears. "I woke up to find your bedroom empty and the house empty. I yelled for you. I called your phone. I thought…I thought he took you in the middle of the night."

Scott shook his head. "No, they didn't. I'm sorry. Really. I didn't…I'll leave a note."

"No," said Melissa, commanding. "No, we have to do things better now. You can't just wander the streets anymore Scott. Not with them out there."

"It don't wander the streets, Mom," said Scott.

"Things are going to change around here," continued Melissa. "I don't want you out alone anymore. That's including Stiles. You must have an adult present at all times. As for lacrosse—."

"You're not seriously thinking about pulling me off the team?" cried Scott.

His mother looked incredulously at him. "Of course not," she said. "I was going to say that you're no longer going to stay after lacrosse practice to practice some more like you used to."

"Uh…well, that was actually a lie," said Scott to his mother. "It was just a cover-up story Stiles and I used when we had…well, yeah."

Scott's mother frowned. "You got to be kidding me? After all this time? How long have you've been lying to me?"

"Since the beginning of the school year," admitted Scott. "That was when I was bitten."

"By whom?"

"Peter Hale."

"Hale? You mean…the same Hale that asked me out that one night?"

Scott nodded. Melissa's face paled, but then turned a shady red color. "That bas—." Melissa stopped herself, took a big breath, and relaxed. "Okay, well, you're no longer allowed to be alone. You are to go to school, then to Dr. Deaton's office, then back home. Clear?"

"This almost sounds like grounding."

"It is," she said, "but it's for protection reasons."

Melissa went back to the kitchen cabinets, pulling out a box of quick pancake mix. "You want some breakfast?"

Scott nodded and went to the table as his mother poured him a glass of milk. "I'm sorry Scott," she said as she placed the glass in front of him. "I really am."

Scott nodded. "Me too."

Melissa kissed the top of her son's head. "We're going to make it through this. I promise."

His mother's words comforted him, but the look on her face didn't settle all the uneasiness inside of him. "Do you really think Dad will take me away?"

Melissa, who had started mixing the batter, stopped. "I don't know," she replied, "I…I don't know."

Scott sensed that his mother lied. Scott could feel her fear and knew that, deep down, Harold would come back, with possible reinforcements, to kidnap his son. Scott's stomach tumbled and churned at the thought of being taken away from his home and into a world that he never wished to be involved in the first place.

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

Scott walked over to his mother and wrapped his arms around her. "Everything's going to be okay," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere."


	24. Chapter 24: Accuracy

**Chapter 24: Accuracy**

In the early afternoon, the McCall's house phone rang. Scott, surprised, answered the phone to hear Allison's voice.

"Scott?"

"Allison?" Scott wrinkled his brow. "Why are you calling my home phone?"

"You weren't picking up your cell phone," she said. "I read about the accident in the paper. Is Stiles okay?"

"Uh...he'll be all right soon," said Scott. "Just a bit knocked around. Broken bones and drugged up."

Scott could hear Allison breathed in relief. "Okay. My dad…he checked the jeep. Said it looked like an...a…werewolf attacked it. Is that, um, true?"

Scott contemplated. "Uh—no, not a werewolf. Stiles said a deer hit him. Lost control. That's all."

A long paused rested between the two. Finally, Allison spoke. "Well, okay, I—just wanted to know." Another long pause filled in between the two. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

Scott gulped, happy that he was talking to her through the phone. "Uh—no. Of course not."

"Yeah," she said. "Okay. See you at school tomorrow."

Allison hung up. Scott replaced the phone back on the dial, running up the stairs to his bedroom. He searched his bedroom, tossing his clothes and books away. Where did his cell phone go?

Melissa walked by, stopping upon seeing her son's chaotic bedroom. "Is everything okay?"

Scott shot up from underneath his bed. "I can't find my phone. Did you see it anywhere?"

Melissa shook her head. "When was the last time you had it?"

Scott's face fell. "In my pocket…when I faced Dad."

Melissa's face fell, paling. She whipped out her phone and dialed her phone. She waited, tapping her fingers against her arm.

"Hello?"

Scott walked over to his mother, reaching for the phone, but Melissa stuck her hand out to stop him.

"Harold? Why do you have Scott's phone?" questioned Melissa.

Melissa waited, frowning. Lines on her forehead creased deeper into her skin. "What do you mean? No. Return the phone! You know? Wait…keep the phone. I'm cancelling it."

Melissa hung up, resting her hand on her forehead. "We'll have to get you a new phone," she said to Scott. "Your father has it."

"What's he doing with it?" asked Scott. "Why did he take it?"

"He says to keep in contact," said Melissa, "but that's not true. Said a girl called a few times. Allison."

Scott slumped into a nearby seat, dropping his head between his knees breathing strongly. Melissa rushed to his side, stroking his back.

"Scott? Honey? Where's your inhaler?" asked Melissa, concerned.

Scott shook his head. "I don't need it." Scott leaned back in the seat, his face strained. "I don't need it. I'm—just—if he figures out about Allison…"

"Honey? What are you talking about?"

"Allison, Mom!" cried Scott. "She comes from a long line of werewolf hunters! Dad—he'll know who she is…her family."

Scott could swear he heard his heart being torn apart inside. He needed to run by Allison's house. Melissa gently rubbed the back of her son's forehead.

"Scott, don't worry," she said. "Harry…he won't hurt her."

Scott shook his head. "No…you don't know that. He might."

"I know your father, Scott," said Melissa. "He's not a cruel man. He won't touch Allison."

Scott stood up, his face beating red. "Well, I don't trust him."

Before Melissa could get in another word, Scott bolted out the door. He heard his mother call him back, but he didn't care. If anything he learned in the past year, it was to never trust another werewolf.

_**BREAK**_

Allison and Lydia stood beside Stiles' hospital bed. Allison examined the injuries, upset that his injuries were worse than what Scott claimed. Lydia didn't seem interested at all in fact that they were standing next to Stiles' hospital cot. She seemed more unnerved with the everything, reminding her of her days spent in the hospital after the animal attack during Homecoming.

Allison bent over and tapped Stiles on the shoulder. "Stiles?"

Stiles's eyes blinked rapidly, his eyes darting between Allison and Lydia, before resting on Lydia. "Oh! Hello! Sorry…"

Allison cracked a smile. "Sorry? About what? You're in the hospital!"

"Sorry for sleeping," said Stiles. "I wasn't aware you two were coming by. If I did, I would have cleaned the place up, make it all nice, you know—."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Allison. "You can't even move out of you cot."

Stiles looked down at himself, noticing the tightly wrapped bandages. "Can't argue with that."

Allison pulled up a chair and Lydia followed. Allison sat down and patted Stiles on the hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just got into a car wreck."

"So, it was a car wreck?"

"Yeah," said Stiles, nodding his head. "A deer came out of nowhere and hit my jeep pretty hard. Sent it spinning. It was crazy."

"That's why I have a Prius," said Lydia. "More controllable car."

Allison raised her eyebrows at Lydia. Lydia took the hint and apologized. "Sorry, must have been frightening."

Stiles didn't find the insult insulting. He smiled. "Yeah, that jeep is becoming more or a problem than a solution."

"So, Stiles, how long are you going to be in the hospital?" asked Allison. "Will you be back at school?"

"Maybe on Monday or Tuesday," said Stiles. "One of those days. The doctors are going to check my injuries and see. But, I'm hoping to be back on Monday."

When he said that, Stiles was looking directly at Lydia.

"We hope you get better," said Allison. "I thought your injuries were less severe. At least, that's what Scott made it appear to be."

"Oh, yeah, Scott downplays things so not to get others worked up," said Stiles. "An old trait of his. But I'm completely fine. Heal in no time. Ready to dance at the Spring Fling Dance."

Again, he looked at Lydia when he spoke.

There came a knock at the door and a nurse came in carrying food for Stiles. She settled it down and told the two girls that visiting hours were almost over.

Once the nurse left, Lydia got up. "I have to use the bathroom," she said. "Stiles…I hope you get better."

"Thank you Lydia," Stiles replied as she walked out the door, "my sweet, lovely Juliet."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Hang in there Romeo," she said. "Don't need to start stalking her backyard anytime soon."

"Of course not," said Stiles. "I'm not a complete freak."

Allison shifted uncomfortably upon the word. Now that both the nurse and Lydia were gone, she wanted to ask the one question she's desired to ask since she heard the news of the accident.

"Stiles?" Allison started as Stiles began to stuff himself with jell-o. "You'd tell me the truth right?"

Stiles nodded. "Of course!"

"Okay," Allison leaned over, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Were you attacked by a werewolf?"

Upon saying her last word, Allison watched as Stiles' face reddened and his eyes avoiding her own. Allison watched Stiles stuff his mouth with more jell-o before shaking his head.

"No," responded Stiles. "No…it was a deer."

Allison narrowed her eyes at him. "You sure?"

Stiles nodded. "Yep. Yep. A deer."

Allison stared at Stiles a little bit longer, hoping she could pull out something. But, Stiles looked away and gave a big, fake yawn.

"Boy, you know, I'm tired," said Stiles. "All these visitors…wears a person out."

"Right," said Allison, taking the clue. She stood up, pushing the chairs back into their original places. "I guess I'll see you at school soon?"

Stiles nodded. "Yep."

"Okay," said Allison, defeating. "Get better, Stiles."

"I'll do my best."

"And watch out for deer."

"Will do."

Allison said goodbye and walked out of Stiles' hospital room. Stiles was lying to her. There's something going on again in Beacon Hills besides the Kanima and both Scott and Stiles know about it. Yet, both are refusing to say anything.

However, she didn't leave empty handed. Stiles told her one vital piece. Another werewolf is in town and it's not here to play nice.

_**BREAK**_

Scott arrived outside Allison's house. He jumped up to the rooftop, hiding amongst the eaves of the roof. He listened carefully, trying to search out Allison's voice. But, he didn't. Instead, he heard the voices of her grandfather and father.

The two Argents were discussing the usual: werewolves. Hunting them to be more exact. Never did the topic stray from the male Argent's mouths. They always spoke of killing werewolves. Scott listened closely as the two older men talked, hearing their heartbeats pump blood and their voices cracking under stress.

"I don't care what the police staff are saying," said Grandpa Argent. "That Stilenski boy is a bunch of crap. He was attacked by a werewolf."

"If that's true," said Chris Argent, "Why did they let him live? I mean, there's not even a bite on him."

Scott heard Grandpa Argent muttered. "That's what's bothering me," said the senior. "How much does this Stilenski know about werewolves?"

"I don't know," replied Chris. "Probably only a little through Scott. Nothing major."

"But enough for another werewolf to attack him," said Grandpa Argent.

"Maybe they were after Scott?"

"Possible," said the senior Argent. "But which werewolf would be after Scott?"

"Derek Hale is the only other werewolf I can think of," said Chris. "It wouldn't make sense though."

"Why not?"

Scott heard Chris take a chug of some type of drink. "Derek is protective of Scott. He wouldn't do anything to hurt Scott. Including his friends."

"Then there's another werewolf out there?"

"One that doesn't belong to Hale's pack," said Chris. "And is trying to kill Stiles."

Scott heard the sound of glass against countertop. "Well, it looks like it' time to have a nice chat with this Stilenski boy."

"Maybe later," said Chris. "Allison and Lydia are at the hospital visiting him."

"Then tonight," said Grandpa Argent.

Scott stopped listening and headed down to the edge of the rooftop. Allison was safe at the moment. She was with Lydia visiting Stiles. None of the werewolves would dare come after her there.

Scott jumped from the roof, landing far too gracefully from such a height. Scott walked away, trying his best to not be noticed or heard by the Argents. He knew that stalking on their grounds wouldn't be an encounter he wished to experience.

As he snuck off the property, Scott headed over back to the hospital. Maybe he could talk to Allison if he could catch her there. Scott was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even noticed that his father stood behind him.

"Scott?"

Scott jumped and spun around, eyeing his father unwelcoming. "All I have to do is scream and the Argents will come out with guns armed and ready."

Harold was unafraid at Scott's threat. "I wanted to talk to you last night."

"You did."

"I mean without your mother present," said Harold. "She…she doesn't understand."

Scott uttered a small growl. "She understands a lot more than you believe."

Harold raised his hands. "Easy there," he said. "I'm not here to fight with you. I just want to talk to you." Harold nudged his head down the road. "Let's walk?"

Scott didn't move.

"Don't worry," said Harold. "I don't have a trick up my sleeve."

Scott, cautious, walked over to his father. The two walked side by side in silence for a long moment. Scott tried hard not to look over at his father. His father, however, stared at him with a mixture of interest and pride, a brief smile appearing on his face.

"I want to apologize for the other night," said Harold, "about with you and Stiles."

"Don't lie," said Scott, "I can tell."

Harold chuckled. "That's right."

"You were willing to kill Stiles," said Scott. "You and your…pack."

A line creased across Harold's forehead. "I didn't willingly want to kill Stiles," he said. "But, he attacked one of us."

"So that gives you cause to kill him?"

"Rules are rules."

"Well, your rules are fucked up," said Scott. "Stiles only shot that Alpha to protect me."

Harold nodded. "I know."

"Yet, you still ordered his death?"

"No!" said Harold. "I only added the two together when you came to his aid the other night."

Scott still shook his head disgustedly at his father. "So, if I didn't come he would be dead?"

Harold didn't respond. He looked forward, avoiding his son's gaze. Scott huffed at his father's no response. For the first time, he never hated his father more.

"What about that Alpha?" demanded Scott. "What's his punishment? He attacked one of his own, didn't he?"

Harold looked at Scott in the corner of his eye. "Yes, but it's a bit more complicated than that."

Scott stopped, his eye color lightening. "Then make it simple."

Harold faced his son, staring down at his dear son with exhaustion. "The others don't know about you."

"I know that already," snapped Scott. "You were ashamed of me and abandoned us."

"Is that what Melissa told you?"

"That's what I know," stated Scott.

Harold smiled amusingly, much to the annoyance of Scott. "Well, I still haven't informed them of the night's events, seeing as you and Melissa made it pretty clear that you're not interested in joining the family pack."

"And I still don't," said Scott.

"Which is why I won't tell them," said Harold. "In the meantime, I would stay low and try to not get into anymore trouble. My family isn't exactly thrilled about last night."

"What do you mean?"

"I told them that Stiles was not responsible for the attack," said Harold. "So, to them, the culprit is still out there hunting them."

"What about your guard dogs?"

"I told them to remain quiet and stupid," he said, "and they know better not to disobey my orders."

"But, they know the real truth."

"Yet, they don't and let's keep it that way." Harold sighed heavily, glancing around the neighborhood, checking to see no one was watching them. "Just stay out of trouble in the meantime."

"I can do that," said Scott.

Harold shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don't necessary agree with this arrangement," he said, "It leaves you vulnerable to hunters like…the Argents."

Scott's skin prickled. "What about them?"

Harold glared down at his son. "The Argents are notorious hunters," he said, "and they live here in Beacon Hills. Did you know that?"

Scott shrugged. "Yeah. I do."

"And you don't seem bothered at all."

"I don't spill human blood."

"Or is it because you're infatuated with the daughter?" Harold pulled out Scott's phone and showed the many photos of Scott and Allison together. Scott tried to snatch it out of his father's hand, but his father anticipated the move. He pocketed it back in his coat. "Fraternizing with the enemy," spoke Harold, "will get you and others killed, son."

"Hasn't so far," said Scott.

"My advice to you," said Harold, "is to forget the girl. It's only going to cause problems."

Scott grunted. "You sound just like Derek. Sorry if you guys had tough love, but I'm not like either of you! And I never will!"

Harold shook his head. "It's not you I'm afraid of," he said. "It's the girl. I would hate to see what would happen by accident."

Scott muscles tensed. "Is that a threat?"

Harold shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "But I would hate to imagine the pain of killing someone you love."

"Are you suggesting that she's going to kill me?"

"Or the other way around," said Harold. "Hunter-Werewolf relationships never work out, Scott."

"Wow. Some fatherly care," said Scott, sarcastically. "Never knew you had any."

"I'm looking out for you interests, Scott."

"I don't need you to," said Scott. "I never did and never will."

"Now, if you don't mind," Scott fixed his jacket and started to walk again, leaving Harold behind him. "I have to visit a good friend in the hospital."

"I'll come with you," said Harold, catching up to his son. "Besides, I would love to meet this girlfriend of yours."

Scott spun right back around, his eyes blazing gold. "If. You. Touch. Her—."

"Relax," said Harold. "Do you really think I'll kill her in public?"

Scott moved to attack Harold, but his father, seeing the oncoming attack, grabbed Scott and held him in a position that Scott couldn't budge.

"Easy son," said Harold. "I'm not going to hurt Allison. There's no reason to bring a full war here where my son lives."

"Then why do you need to see her?" questioned Scott.

"Can't a father see the girl his son likes?" asked Harold, "without assuming an ulterior motive?"

Scott tried to break free, but the Harold's grasp was too strong for the young werewolf. "Let me go!"

"Not until you retract some of your werewolf heritage back," said Harold. "Or the humans will notice."

Scott didn't even realize that his claws had sprouted out from his fingers and his jaw line prickled with spiked hair. Breathing slowly, Scott tried to get himself to calm down. He thought about Allison, remembering her voice clearly and feeling her lips on his.

Then, Scott felt the pressure release. He jumped away from Harold who already started walking toward the hospital.

"Come on, Scott," he said. "Don't want to be late. Visiting hours are almost over."


	25. Chapter 25: Animosity

**Chapter 25: Animosity**

Allison and Lydia were walking out of the hospital doors when they encountered a man. He was darkly handsome and looked familiar to Allison. Where had she seen those eyes before?

"Are you by chance Allison Argent?" the man asked.

Allison stared. How did he know her name? Lydia looked flabbergasted as well.

"Er…yes," Allison replied. "I'm sorry…do I know you."

"No," answered the man. "But, I've heard about you."

The blood in Allison's veins slowly went cold. She felt uncomfortable under the man's gaze and wanted to backtrack into the hospital where there were more witnesses other than Lydia.

"ALLISON!"

Allison looked to her right to see Scott running up to her. Though she was angry with Scott and his werewolf friend, relief filled her heart. If this man tried to do anything, she was sure Scott would protect her.

Scott ran up next to the man, somewhat flustered. As he stood, Allison realized some familiarities between the Scott and the stranger.

"Scott," said the man. "I was just talking to your friends here."

The man gestured to Allison and Lydia, but Scott was not happy. Allison started forming a possible defensive attack in her mind in case it was needed. She wished she had her crossbow as she wondered if the man was a werewolf.

However, the man stretched out his hand. "Well, since Scott's not being polite here, allow me," said the man. "Hi! I'm Harold. Scott's father."

Allison's eyes darted between the stranger and Scott, now making the familial connections. "Oh! Your Scott's Dad! Hi." Allison shook his hand. "I'm sorry…I didn't know—"

"Relax, it's okay," said Harold. "It's my fault. I did just come up and said hello. Guess I should have mentioned it before."

Allison glanced at Scott who still looked bitter at his father. "So, um, when did you get to Beacon Hills?"

"Not long ago," answered Harold. "Just here on a business. Last minute type of thing. Surprised Scott here."

Harold tapped Scott's shoulder, but Scott brushed him off. Allison could see Scott resented his father's presence.

"So, what brings you two beautiful women to a sad place?" asked Harold.

"Dad…" rumbled Scott. "Don't you have a meeting to attend? Like, right now?"

"I postponed it, remember?" said Harold. "So that I could hang-out with you. Sorry, why are you two at the hospital? Visiting someone?"

"We just went to visit Stiles," answered Allison, uncertain if she was to answer him or not.

"You're friends with Stiles too?" questioned Harold, dubious. "Really?"

"Not really," replied Lyida, which Allison elbowed her in the ribs.

"He's a good friend," smiled Allison. "He was in a bad wreck."

"Yes, I heard from Scott. Came by to see him. How is he? Getting better?"

"He's good."

"Good. That's great," smiled Harold. "Is he awake or is it pointless for us to go in."

"No, he's awake," assured Allison. "Scott, I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. Might have a story or two to tell you."

Scott nodded. "Yeah? Okay. Well, you and Lydia should probably head home. Don't want your Dad to be waiting."

Allison heard the urgency in Scott's voice and complied. "Yeah. I'm supposed to meet him for lunch. It was nice to meet you Mr. –"

"Call me Harold," said Scott's father.

"Okay. It was nice meeting you Harold."

Allison and Lydia headed to Allison's car, but as she climbed into the driver's seat, Scott tapped on her window. Allison rolled it down.

"What?"

"I need to talk to you."

Allison pouted. "Scott…I'm not interested in hearing excuses, okay? I don't want to talk to you! I need my distance."

"Please! This is important. Allison, I swear I just need to talk to you. It will be only a few minutes. Then, I won't talk to you until you want to."

Allison pondered, but from Scott's reaction to his father's presence, she gave in. "Fine. When and where?"

"I'll find you," said Scott and he went to move away.

Allison understood. "Okay, I'll see you later."

"See you."

Scott walked away and went to the hospital entrance where Harold stood waiting for him. Allison watched the father-son duo entered through the glass doors and disappeared amongst the hospital staff.

"Hello!" cried Lydia. "Are we going to stay parked here or are we going to drive?"

"Sorry," said Allison shifting the stick into drive.

All she could think about was the intensity of Harold and Scott. His father seemed nice, though creepy at first. But, he was polite and nice. Yet, Scott acted differently. He acted as if Harold was an enemy. Someone not to be trusted. And the way he asked to meet with her later. It seemed urgent. Something dire that he needed to inform her privately.

As she drove further away from the hospital, she let her thoughts of the encounter go to the back of her mind. She would worry about it later or maybe bring it up when Scott came to talk to her.

_**BREAK**_

Scott refused to walk next to Harold as they went through the hospital. He could hear his father's steady heartbeat and he grew angry at how calm he was. Stiles was nearly killed the other night, by his father's orders, and he was calm about it.

Then, he got the nerve to talk to Allison! He even shook her hand and all Scott wanted to do was to knock him down on the sidewalk. He should have. But, he didn't want to frighten Allison or cause a commotion. And, Scott figured, Harold knew that.

"She's seems like a very lovely girl," said Harold as Scott curled his fingers. "Very nice. Pretty too. I can see how she managed to win you over."

"Shut up!" growled Scott. "I can't believe…You did that to annoy me."

"No. Of course not. I just wanted to meet the Argent that won my son's heart," said Harold. "Though I have to be honest with you, she's going to stab it. And, if not her, her family will."

"Actually, I'm surprised they haven't already," wondered Harold. "Do they know?"

Scott's stomach tightened. Harold glanced at him for a moment and then cursed. "Fuck, they do know."

"Which proves that your theory about the Argents wrong," said Scott. "They haven't killed me."

"Do they know that you're seeing their daughter?"

Scott didn't answer.

"So, they don't know," continued Harold. "Interesting. I wonder how much longer until they find out."

"They won't."

"Yes, because you are so good at lying and keeping things a secret," mocked Harold. "Please, they'll find out and start a hunting party on you. I've seen it happen a lot of times before with werewolves and hunters. Yours isn't any different."

Scott ignored his father and tried to pick up his pace, but he was no match for the full Original.

Scott turned to face his father. "Why did you come back?"

Harold glanced at Scott. "Just business."

"You're here for the Kanima," said Scott. "To kill him."

"And to fix the craziness around here," added Harold. "Beacon Hills is causing too much of a supernatural attention. Don't need word of werewolves running around or there'll be a massacre."

"But why did you need to meet Allison."

Harold smiled. "You really don't believe me that I just wanted to know the girl my son likes?"

Scott shook his head. Harold shrugged. "Well, then that's your problem. I have no interest in hurting her…unless she gives cause."

The underlying threat to Allison, shot adrenaline and anger through Scott's body. He shoved Harold up against the wall. A few nurses looked in the direction, but Harold waved them away. Scott's heartbeat was racing faster than any human heart. His skin prickled and he could feel claws growing out from his fingertips.

"If you ever…"

"I know the line," said Harold. "Don't need to quote it to me. I get it. Romeo and Juliet. But remember," he added. "It didn't end well for them."

With a simple, quick move, Harold freed himself from Scott's grasp and continued walking down the hallway. Scott retracted his claws and the stubby hairs before going after Harold just as his father arrived at Stiles' hospital bed.

Stiles was propped up in his bed, watching the television in his room. He turned to see who was coming through the door. When he saw Harold's face, he panicked and threw his covers off to make a run for the window.

"STILES!" cried Scott as he brushed passed his father through the door.

Stiles, the window nearly raised, let out a huge sigh of relief. "Scott! Oh…thank God. It's you…and, what the hell is_ he_ doing here?"

Harold closed the door. "Relax," he said off-handily. "I'm not here to kill you."

Stiles didn't look convinced. He looked over at his best friend. "Why the hell did you bring him here?"

"He followed me," answered Scott as he glared at his father.

"Just wanted to check in," said Harold. "How're you feeling Stiles?"

"Been better, but no thanks to you," answered Stiles. "Now, if you don't mind. I think my visitor hours are over."

"You still have 30 minutes," replied Harold. Harold scanned Stiles up and down. "You're healing nicely."

Stiles didn't take the pleasantries like Allison did. "Don't act like you're happy," he said. "You wanted me dead, remember?"

"You attacked an Original," said Harold. "Death is the penalty."

"And attempted murder is too," replied Stiles, "in some states."

Scott was impressed with Stiles' treatment toward the Original. Any normal person, even werewolf, probably wouldn't dare to talk to an Original in that harsh tone. Scott was glad he had Stiles as a friend.

Harold pulled up a chair and sat down. "You don't have to worry about that," he said. "I've taken care of it. The pack won't come after you anymore."

"Am I supposed to be grateful?" said Stiles.

"Well, seeing as my brother would have still pursued your death, I think yes."

Stiles was taken back. "Brother?"

"The werewolf we attacked near the Argents'," answered Scott.

"He's not exactly happy with you," said Harold, relaxing in his seat. "But, I managed to make the others forget you."

"That's very comforting," said Stiles. "I feel a thousand times better."

Harold took a deep, uneasy breath and Scott could tell he was trying his best to hold down his frustration. "I forgot how annoying you are."

"Well, I didn't forget how much of an ass you were."

Harold jumped up, but Scott rushed to Stiles side, ready to fight his father. Harold glanced from Stiles to Scott and fixed his jacket.

"Jesus, I still can't believe you're still alive," said Harold and he looked at the time. "I have to go. But, stay out of trouble. I don't think I can cover for you twice, Stiles."

With that, Harold left the hospital room, leaving Stiles and Scott alone. Stiles immediately bombarded Scott with questions.

"What did he want?" he asked. "Is he planning on taking you away still? Are you staying? Is he staying?"

Scott dropped in Harold's former seat and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I don't know. I really don't know."

"I don't trust him."

"Neither do I."

The two friends sat in silence. The only thing either could hear was the heart monitor's beeps and the clock's ticking sound. Scott kept going over and over in his mind. Why was his father still hanging around him? He figured they came to kill the kanima, but now, Scott feared something worse.

"What's chewing your brain?" asked Stiles.

"My father," said Scott, "Who else?"

"Yeah…so, what's his plan?"

"He said he's here to fix the supernatural problem, but I think he has an ulterior motive now."

"Really?" said Stiles, sarcastically.

"Yeah, it's like he trying to gather up information," said Scott. "He met Allison and Lydia just outside the hospital."

Stiles bolted upright in his hospital cot. "You're just telling me this now?" he said, his voice panicky. "Are they okay? Are they safe? What did he do?"

"Calm down," said Scott. "I don't want the nurse to kick me out." The heart monitor barely went down from its skyrocketed moment. "Okay, he mostly talked to Allison. Hell, I don't think he even asked for Lydia's name."

Stiles' heart monitor lowered even more. Stiles rested his head against the pillow. "Jesus, you don't think he's going to…"

"I doubt he'll hurt Lydia," answered Scott. "If anyone, it will be Allison because of her bloodline."

Stiles looked drained, almost dead. They were both overwhelmed over their shared fears of losing the girls they love. "So, what do we do?" asked Stiles.

Scott stood up. "We need to get those bullet from Peter. Once we have those, we'll have leverage against the Originals."

"Except, Peter has them and he ran off to Nowhere Land," said Stiles.

Scott shook his head. "No, I doubt that he went far. I know Peter…well, I know enough. He won't leave. He got those bullets for a reason."

"So, we take the bullets and have a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid moment with the Originals."

"What? No! I don't know, but it's a start," responded Scott. "Once you're healed and everything, we'll start searching for the bullets."

"What are you going to do in the meantime?" asked Stiles as he sunk into his covers.

"I'm going to spy on my father and see what are his true plans."


	26. Chapter 26: Adumbrate

**Chapter 26: Adumbrate**

When Allison returned from the hospital, her father called her into the office. She walked in to see her grandfather sitting behind the desk and her father standing on the other side.

Her father gravely asked her to close the door and to come closer. "Allison, we need to talk to you about that Stilenski boy."

Allison glanced between her to patriarchs. "What about him? He's fine. No severe injuries. He's going to make it."

"Not that," said Grandpa Argent. "We know the truth about his relationship with a Mr. Scott McCall."

"Yeah? They've been friends since they were little," said Allison.

"What your grandfather is trying to say is that we know Stiles is aware of werewolves," said Chris. "We are also aware that he was attacked by one. Maybe two."

Allison gulped. "Er…really? I didn't notice anything like that at the hospital."

"Allison dear," said her grandfather. "You don't need to lie to us. We are fully aware of the actual truth."

Allison lowered her eyes away. "Then, why did you ask me to come in here?"

"Because we need you to get some information for us," said Grandpa Argent. "It's possible that Stilenski could be in real danger. That he could use our help."

Allison looked back up into her grandfather's dark eyes. "Help?"

"He was attacked by a very powerful werewolf," said Chris. "That is what we know of so far. We believe he might be in danger still."

"And we need your help to protect not only Stilenski, but also the rest of town from this dangerous werewolf," added Grandpa Argent.

"Well, how can I help? You want me to go back to the hospital and talk to Stiles?"

Chris and Grandpa Argent took a quick glance at each other. "No," answered Chris. "We need you to talk to Scott."

"If anyone knows what's happening in town," said Grandpa Argent. "It would be McCall."

"Will you do that?" asked Chris. "Do you think you can get the information?"

They both looked at her, waiting for a reply. Allison's heart beat rapidly and she was sure her cheeks were getting rosy. She looked up into her father's eyes to see the grief shadow still flickering. His wife was dead because of werewolves. Her mother was dead because of werewolves. Scott had his life ruined by werewolves. Stiles nearly died from werewolves last night. No one is safe. There's only one way to stop it all.

"Yeah, okay, sure," answered Allison. "I'll talk to Scott."

Grandpa Argent grinned. "That's my little hunter."

_**BREAK**_

When Harold arrived back at the mansion, he noticed two things. One that his father wasn't home. Two, his dear brother stood in the hallway to greet him.

"Hello Harry," said Harvey, dressed in casual ware.

Harold hung up his coat. "Harvey! How long have you been standing by the door waiting for my return?"

"When I sensed your presence about two minutes ago," Harvey gestured his brother to follow. "Come! We've been hunting."

"Hunting?"

"To find the Kanima and the ones who tried to kill us."

"Oh," said Harold. "Where's Dad?"

"Went out to town," explained Harvey. "Wanted to see what Beacon Hills had to offer."

"Nothing."

"Yet, you're quite enjoying yourself here," said Harvey. "You've been in town more than at headquarters. What's up with that?"

Harold gave a nonchalant shrug. "Wanted to see old friends."

"And, how are they?"

"Most are dead."

"Terrible. How?"

"A fire, apparently," answered Harold as Harvey snorted.

"Oh, you mean the Hale family. Well, you've met Derek, didn't you?"

"He was only a baby the first time I saw him," said Harold. "His father was a good man. Derek acts like him."

Harvey wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Instead, he pulled out a map of the town limits and a diagram that had Derek Hale's name at the top. Harold peered over the papers with a quizzical stare.

"What is all this?"

"A battleground strategy," answered Harvey. "We are already aware where Derek is currently occupying." Harvey pulled the diagram to the front. "Now, he's the Alpha and these are the three betas."

Harvey pointed to the three names: Issac, Erica, and Boyd. Names that Harold did not recognize. However, he knew that Derek had a few betas. He just didn't have his son as one of them.

"But," added Harvey. "We have an omega roaming the town as well. Though, we don't know who yet." Harvey points to an empty box with a question mark. "All we know is that he's not a member of the Hale Pack. But, he's strong, which is unusual for an Omega."

"So, what's you theory about his lone wolf?" questioned Harold.

A flicker of happiness went across Harvey's face. "Well, that's why Dad is in town."

Suddenly, the room's doors burst opened and the Original Alpha marched into the room where his sons stood. He smiled warmly, but Harold could see that he was angry.

"Harry," said the Original Alpha, in French. "You're back! Good. We got things to do."

"Like what?" questioned Harold. "You going to send me into the field?"

The Original Alpha shook his head. "No. I'm sending Harvey here to do the job."

"What job?"

The Original Alpha glared at his eldest son. "If you let me finish, you'll find out."

Harold bowed his head. "My sincere apology."

The Original Alpha took a seat. "Now that we know who is the Kanima, Harvey?"

"Yes father?"

"I need you to go and finish him off," ordered the Original Alpha. "Here's the information you need."

The Original Alpha threw an envelope to Harvey and Harold watch his brother read the papers inside. Harvey nodded. "Will do, sir. My men and I will kill him tonight."

"Excellent," said the Original Alpha. "You may go. I have to speak to Harold in private."

Harvey side-glanced at Harold with a worried look, but he obeyed the Original Alpha and exited the room. Harold remained where he stood, waiting for his father to speak.

The Original Alpha pulled out a glass and whiskey bottle. "I am beginning to suspect something, Harold."

"Suspect what?" asked Harold, innocently.

The Original Alpha poured himself a drink, holding the glass delicately. "I'm beginning to suspect that you're hiding something from this family."

After living all his life with the Originals, Harold was thankful that he could keep his emotions under control. Because at the moment, his heart rate wanted to rise. "Hiding something. Like what?"

"That's what I wanted to know," said the Original Alpha. "Since you're arrival, you've been out in the town more than staying here."

"You and Harvey must have had a long talk about me this morning," said Harold. "He voiced his concern to me earlier."

"I believe we have reasons to be concerned," said the Original Alpha. "For one, you didn't tell us how you figured out this Stilenski boy wasn't the main culprit of your brother's attack."

"Easy enough," said Harold. "He didn't match the description. I thought he did, but it turns out…nope. Wrong person."

The Original Alpha studied Harold, but he kept body calm. There was nothing to give him away.

The Original Alpha, however, wasn't done interrogating him. "Then, why do you keep going out to town? You have only been in this house for five hours total."

"Just wanted to see a few old friends and visit some old joints," said Harold. "Nothing big. I wanted to see how much has changed since I've been here all those years ago."

The Original Alpha put down his drink. "From now on, I need you to stay here. No more going out to town by yourself," he commanded. "There are Argents in this town. If they find out who you are, they will try to kill you _and_ they might succeed."

"Are you saying I'm not strong enough to take care of a few hunters?" questioned Harold, bitterly.

The Original Alpha gave a long look to Harold. "I'm saying that you're being careless," he said as he walked over to Harold. "Harry, you're my oldest son. And no offense to Harvey, but he's not a leader. He's a loyal follower and all, but you're a leader, Harold. When I die, you're going to take the reins as Alpha."

"I'm aware," said Harold. "All my life, in fact."

The Original sighed. "Yeah, I guess you did. But you won't become Alpha if you're dead."

"So from now on," he continued, "You are to be present here in the mansion or have at least two guards with you. That's an order."

Harold solemnly nodded in agreement. "I will."

The Original Alpha let a real smile across his face. "When we get back home, I want you to go find out and find a nice woman. It's time you start a family, Harold. You've been a bachelor for too long and I'm running out of time to spoil with my grandchildren."

Harold's heart ached and he tried to hide it from his father, but it was too late.

"What's a matter?" asked the Original Alpha. "Your heart."

"Nothing," said Harold, swallowing his emotions back down. "I thought about my old girlfriend and how things didn't work out."

The Original Alpha sympathetically nodded. "Yes, Cécile. She was a lovely girl."

Though that wasn't what Harold thought, he agreed with his father to hide the truth about Scott and Melissa. "Yes. Too bad."

After a moment, Harold turned back to his father. "Is there anything else you need me to do?"

The Original Alpha nodded. "Yes. I am putting you in charge of locating this mysterious Omega."

"The one that attacked Harvey?"

"Yes. Try not to kill him," said the Original Alpha. "I want him alive."

Harold stared puzzled. "Alive? A couple of days ago, you wanted him dead."

The Original Alpha waved his hand in a sweeping motion. "I'm aware of what I wanted, but after much consideration, I changed my mind. There's something about that Omega. How could he overcome one of us?"

Harold shrugged.

"That's why I want him alive if possible," said the Original Alpha. "To learn who he is or possibly _what_ he is. Who knows? If we can get him on our side, he would be a valuable asset."

"And if he refuses?" asked Harold.

The Original Alpha's picked up the glass. "Well, then, we kill him." Then, he shattered the glass with hand as his eyes turned bright red.

_**BREAK**_

Allison sat in her bedroom listening to music and waiting for Scott to call her. Though her father and grandfather wanted her to talk to Scott right away, she knew she needed to wait. If she called Scott then he would think she's not that angry with his kind. But, she was. _Is_.

As she lied on her bed pondering what to say, there was a tap at her window. She sat up to see Scott by her window. She opened the window and Scott climbed into the bedroom.

"Hey, sorry for interrupting," Scott started, but Allison stopped him.

"You said you wanted to talk," she said. "So, talk."

Allison noticed immediately that Scott was flustered and uneasy. His eyes never made contact with her own and he kept fiddling with his fingers. Something was definitely worrying him.

"I'm sorry about your mother," Scott said. "I know it must be hard for you. To hear me say sorry…"

"Please Scott," said Allison. "Just stop! I don't want to talk about my Mom."

Scott looked at Allison with a longing sad face. "I-I'm just really sorry. If…if I could have changed it all, I would have let myself die instead."

Allison was perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

Scott now looked taken back. "Wait? They didn't tell…never mind. You didn't want to talk about your mother and she's not the real reason I needed to talk to you."

Allison wanted to hear the rest of Scott's question. What did he mean that he wished he was dead instead of her? Was he there when Derek killed her? But he didn't make it seem like that. Scott made it sound as if he and her mother were caught in some crossfire and her mother died in Scott's place.

Allison was now intrigued about her mother's death and really wanted Scott to tell her the truth, but she noticed that Scott was twiddling in fingers again. He hadn't said anything about her mother or what he really wanted to talk about. Instead, he stayed by the window, still avoiding eye contact.

Allison was tired of waiting. "Scott, if you're not going to tell me anything…"

"No, Allison, I will, it's just," said Scott. "I just don't know how to say it."

"Well, you say it in English."

Scott looked exasperated. "You know what I mean!"

Allison sat down on the edge of her bed. "Does it have to do with Stiles?"

Scott nodded. "A little bit, yeah."

"So, werewolves did attack him," said Allison. "Was it Derek?"

"What?" said Scott. "No! No, it wasn't him. Or Peter."

"Peter? Who's Peter?"

"Peter Hale. Yeah, I know. He's back from the dead," said Scott after looking at Allison's face. "He managed to control Lydia from beyond the grave, but that's all in the past. We have bigger things to worry about."

Allison's eyebrows trailed up. "What do you mean 'bigger things'? Is this about your Dad?"

"What?" said Scott as his eyes went wide. "My Dad?"

"Yeah, you didn't seem to enjoy his company outside the hospital," said Allison. "Are you upset with him?"

Scott acted relaxed. "Oh well, my dad and I never got along," he said, "but that's not why I'm here."

Scott sat down on the bed. "Allison, there are new werewolves in town."

Allison paused. "New werewolves? What…are they the ones that attacked Stiles?"

"Yeah," answered Scott. "But, he's safe for now. They won't come after him."

"How are you so sure?" Allison remembered her earlier encounters with raging werewolves. "They're not exactly the friendly type. Except you."

"Trust me," said Scott. "I took care of it."

Allison watched the lines in Scott's forehead creased in more. "Scott? What's really bothering you?"

Scott stared up, his eyes round and tired. "Allison, these new werewolves. They're powerful. More powerful than any creature we faced."

Allison's skin prickled. "What do you mean? Aren't they just werewolves? Like you?"

"Sort of," said Scott. "Allison, you know that every species has a beginning right?"

"Sure."

"Well, werewolves had to start from someone right?"

Allison didn't like where this was going. "Scott. Are you trying to tell me—"

"The Originals are here Allison," interjected Scott. "The Original werewolves are here in Beacon Hills."

Allison stared with her mouth gaped open. "Original werewolves?"

Scott stood up and paced around the room. "They're faster, stronger, and honestly have no emotions. They simply live to kill."

"What are they doing in Beacon Hills?"

"They're here to fix the supernatural problem?"

"Fix?"

"Well, kill more like it," explained Scott. "They're going to kill Jackson if they figure out that he's the Kanima. The even tried to kill me once!"

Allison's mind began to hurt. Were these the werewolves that her father and grandfather were talking about? "Scott, wait! What are you saying? Are they here to kill every supernatural creature?"

"No!" said Scott. "I don't know."

"Why did they try to kill Stiles?"

Scott sunk back to the bed. "Because he and I were protecting your family."

Allison was taken back. "What?"

"The Originals figured out about your family," said Scott. "They came to kill you. Stiles and I fought them and won. But, not without them putting us on their hit list. The car accident that Stiles had," Allison nodded for Scott to go on. "They tried to kill him. They failed, but like I said, I took care of the situation."

Scott dropped his face into his hands. Allison tried to take it all in. "You believe they're going to try to kill my family again?"

"Yeah."

Allison glanced away, looking outside the window. She wondered if the Originals were outside already, stalking her family.

"Do you know how many there are?"

Scott shook his head. "No, maybe three? I don't know. Allison" Scott turned to look at Allison directly. "Please, be careful. Always bring a weapon with you."

"You're beginning to sound like my Dad Scott," said Allison. "I can take care of myself. My family has been hunters all their life. We know how to deal with the supernatural."

Allison knew it didn't comfort Scott. He always tried to protect her, even when she was mad at him. He never gave a second thought about his own safety. She knew that no matter what, Scott would always protect her, even if she didn't want him too.

"Have you met these Originals?" asked Allison.

She noticed how Scott tensed up at the mention of the name. "I met two, but I know one."

"What?"

Scott took a big gulp as he muttered out words that Allison could barely hear. "Scott? What are you saying?"

Scott rested his elbows on his knees, but still refused to look at Allison when he spoke again. "My father," he said. "He's one of them. He's an Original."


	27. Chapter 27: Assassination

**Chapter 27: Assassination **

"The Originals? Did Scott tell you where they are hiding?"

Allison shook her head. "No, he really didn't know much about them. Only that they are here. He didn't seem to be on good terms with them."

Gerard chuckled. "Good terms? Who is on good terms with the Originals? Even Alpha werewolves are frightened of them."

"So, he only told you that the Originals are in town?" asked Chris

Allison nodded. "And that they tried to kill us."

"Tried?" Chris and Gerard said in unison.

"Scott stopped them," said Allison, "along with Stiles."

Gerard swore. "Damn it! They are aware of our presence. They'll do anything to kill us. I was at least hoping we could have the upper hand."

Gerard reached for his medicine case, giving Allison the time to ask her father a question.

"Dad, I want to talk to you about Mom's death," she said, but her father shook her head. "About how she got the bite."

"Not now, kiddo," Chris said. "We need to focus on defeating the Originals."

"But—."

"You have school tomorrow," said Chris. "Don't you still have homework?"

"I do, but I—."

Chris directed his daughter to the door. "Go upstairs and finish your homework," he said. "Then, get some sleep. You did wonderful."

Chris kissed Allison on the cheek and closed the door, keeping her out of the study. Frowning, Allison marched back upstairs, more determined to figure out the truth of her mother's death.

Chris, meanwhile, made sure he heard Allison's feet go up the stairs. "All right," said Chris. "Looks like Scott didn't know much after all. Knew about the same as us."

"Except we now know they are aware of our presence," added Gerard. "I was really hoping we could have done a sneak attack."

"Well, now we have to plan a full frontal attack," said Chris. "It's not going to be easy. They're stronger. More powerful."

Gerard waved his hand in annoyance. "I'm aware Christopher. I've been a hunter longer than you have."

"Do you think they're here to kill the kanima?" asked Chris. "Or something else?"

Gerard popped another pill into his mouth. "Just the kanima. Once they take care of the creature, they'll leave." He took a gulp of water. "Our window of opportunity is limited. We'll have to move quickly and with more hunters."

Chris knew what Gerard trying to get at. "I don't want Allison to get caught up with this. If she joins in the fight…I don't want her to die at their hands. No, Allison will stay away from the fighting."

Gerard shook his head. "It's a little to late for that. She's already a part of this world. Ever since she started dating that Scott McCall."

"Doesn't mean I can't pull her out," said Chris. "The decision is final. Allison stays out."

_**BREAK**_

Allison looked straight into the mirror. She didn't see herself. She saw Scott. Just normal, human looking Scott. Next, she saw his eyes turn bright blood red and vicious teeth growing from his mouth. He became a monster.

Allison blinked and she saw her reflection. Locking her window and pulling the curtain closed, she jumped into her bed and cradled herself. She kept wondering if she should have told her father and grandfather about Scott's connection to the Originals. But, she knew that if she told them of Scott's heritage, they would have killed him. The only reason they aren't killing him now is because he hadn't taken a human life.

She knew that informing them would put Scott in greater danger. More importantly, she would put her and Scott in a terrible position of betrayal. Allison couldn't do that to Scott, especially after he (and Stiles) saved her and her family from the Originals already.

Allison sunk into her sheets. Why couldn't her life be less complicated?

_**BREAK**_

Jackson's adoptive parents always left Jackson alone in the big house. They always went to the next town over to dine with old friends. They stayed late, sometimes coming home in the early morning. They were never aware that Lydia would spend the night or the parties he hosted with booze and hired DJs. His parents never knew and, if they did, they never mentioned it. And, Jackson was happy with the arrangement.

Tonight, it was nothing different. His parents wished him goodnight as they drove out of the garage. Jackson plopped onto the sofa and turned on the television, planning to watch the Die Hard trilogy. He started the first movie and went to microwave some popcorn and grab a beer.

When the microwave beeped, Jackson hot-potatoed the bag of popcorn and poured the popped kernels into a bowl. He returned to the sofa and started tossing popcorn into his mouth and watching John McClane feel uncomfortable in his surroundings of bankers, when he heard an odd creaking sound near the pool entrance.

Jackson hit the pause button and listened carefully. The noise died. It must have come from the movie. Jackson played the movie again, but he heard the strange noise again. He paused the film again and got up from the sofa to investigate.

He wandered to the pool entrance, but nothing was different. The door was closed and locked. Windows secured. Every thing was fine.

Jackson turned to go back down the hallway when he noticed a long scratch along the wall. Jackson peered over it and traced his finger along the line. This was no ordinary scratch. It was a werewolf marking.

Jackson straightened up. "McCall? Hey McCall! Is that you?"

No response.

"Derek? If you're trying to scare me, you suck at it! I'm done with all this shit," Jackson said, but nothing happened. Jackson's nostrils flared. "Whatever."

Jackson spun back around to finish his Die Hard when he jumped back upon seeing a stranger standing in front of him.

Jackson grabbed his chest. "Jesus…Derek?"

The man stepped into the light, revealing his face. Jackson backed up. "Who the fuck are you?"

The man raised his hand and Jackson witnessed the claws growing out. "I'm the last person that's ever going to see you alive."

Jackson ran. He pumped his arms as fast as he could, sliding around the corner…only to run into another person. The new person snatched Jackson up from his feet and tossed him like a ragdoll across the living room.

Crashing over the sofa, Jackson's face smashed into the wooden floor. He lifted his head and blood leaked from his nose. Oh God!

He heard footsteps come closer to him and he looked up. Two people stood above him and he could see the maliciousness in their eyes.

"Please! If you want money…"

"We don't want money," said another voice.

The two pulled Jackson up to his feet where Jackson saw the first guy again. The werewolf stepped closer, not even noticing the luxury items around him. His eyes were on Jackson.

Jackson tried to get out of the two's grips, but they were stronger than him.

"No point in trying," said the werewolf. "They can overpower you without even trying."

Jackson stopped. "What do you want?"

The werewolf stopped a few inches from his face and gave a sniff. Jackson was repulsed. The werewolf leaned back and nodded.

"He's the Kanima," he said, disgusted. "An abomination!"

The grips on his arms tightened and Jackson winced. The werewolf checked his watch. "Let's get this over with."

Jackson watched the two people holding him grow their own claws. Two more werewolves. 'Wait! Wait! Please! Don't kill hurt me! I-I'll do anything. Please? What do you want? I can get it."

The leader scoffed. "You? I don't need anything from _you_. Except your death."

Tears sprung in Jackson's eyes. "Please! I'll tell you anything! There're other werewolves here! Another pack!"

"We're already aware about Derek Hale and his three betas," said the leader. "We'll deal with them later."

"What about McCall?"

Jackson smiled. He witnessed the sudden flicker of interest, but the leader returned to his poise position.

"McCall?" he repeated. "And, who might that be?"

"I'll tell you if you let me go."

The leader cackled. "We don't negotiate."

Jackson glanced at all three men, now realizing that they weren't ordinary werewolves like Hale or McCall. "What are you?"

"Gods," the leader answered. "Now, if you refuse to tell me what I want to know…well, let's just say you're going to beg for a quick death."

The leader placed a single claw on Jackson's neck and dug it into his skin. Jackson grimaced as blood bubbled over the wound. He gulped and eyed the man's claws. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

"Who's McCall?"

"Another werewolf," replied Jackson. "He was the first one to be turned."

"First you say?"

Jackson nodded.

"Is he a member of Hale's pack?" questioned the leader.

Jackson shook his head. "No. He's refused to join in any pack."

The leader contemplated. "So…a lone wolf. An omega."

"A what?" asked Jackson, but one of the werewolves that held him twisted his arm.

The leader gestured the werewolf to stop. "Describe this McCall to me."

"He's medium size, black hair, tan skin," said Jackson. "Nothing spectacular about him. But, both Peter and Derek Hale wanted him in their own packs."

"Peter Hale?"

"He's dead."

The leader paused. He turned away from Jackson and his minions to think alone. Jackson jerked his arms, but the two werewolves didn't even budge from his attempt. They kept their hold and ground, waiting for their leader to command them.

After a good long moment, the leader turned around. "Thank you Jackson," he said. "You were quite helpful."

"So, you letting me go?"

The leader chuckled. "Letting you go? Now, why would I do that?"

Jackson's eyes widened. "But…our deal!"

"Like I said before," said the leader. "We don't negotiate."

Jackson tried to retort, but the leader punched right into his chest. Jackson gasped and lurched forward. He tried to breath, but no air was being sucked in. Trembling, he stared down and saw a gaping hole in his body.

His support let go and Jackson collapsed to the floor, barely alive. The leader towered over his near lifeless body. Jackson tried to crawl, but every ounce of strength was disappearing. Seconds, he was paralyzed. The only thing he could see were black boots.

"For insurance," said the leader. He raised his boot and stomped it on Jackson's head.

Jackson never felt the boot hit his head. He didn't feel his skull breaking or caving in. He didn't feel his eyes bulging out, bleeding. He didn't feel blood soaking his blonde hair. He didn't feel anything. No one can feel once they're dead.

And Jackson was dead.

_**BREAK**_

Stiles received a call from his father early in the morning. The nurse allowed him to answer if he had the energy to do it. Stiles said he did.

Stiles answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Stiles? Hey! How you feeling?"

"Groggy."

Stiles heard his father sighed, a sign that something was wrong. "Dad? What is it?"

Stiles only heard static for a long moment. "DAD!"

"I'm here," said Sheriff Stilenski. "I'm really sorry Stiles. It's your friend."

Stiles skin went cold. "Scott?"

"No. No, not Scott," said his father, his voice cracking. "No. It's Jackson."

Stiles' brows furrowed together. "What's wrong with Jackson? Dad? Is he okay? Did something happen?"

Sheriff Stilenski sighed again like he was regretting what he was about to say. "Stiles, son. Jackson…he's dead."

_**BREAK**_

Scott already heard of the news by the time he walked to the veterinarian's office. His mother woke him up with the sad news of his death. It was a terrible murder. The police have no suspects as to who would kill Jackson Whittmore. But Scott did.

It had to be his father. His Dad told him that they arrived to take care of the kanima, to end its reign of supernatural terror in order to keep werewolves a secret. It had to be him.

Yet, Scott couldn't stop pleading with his mind to think that it wasn't his father. His father wouldn't murder an innocent teenager. No! He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Scott was too busy caught up with his own battle that he didn't even sense someone was following him until he was grabbed from behind and pulled into an alleyway.

Scott immediately wolfed out, but upon recognizing Derek, returned to his normal human self.

"What hell are you doing?"

"I heard about Jackson," replied Derek.

"Yeah. Well, no thanks to you!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you told them," spat Scott. "You told the Originals that Jackson was the kanima." Derek started to reply, but Scott continued. "Don't lie to me!"

Derek's face darkened as his jaw tightened. "Yes. I told them that Jackson was the kanima."

Scott fumed. "How could you do that? I told you we took care of it! Jackson wasn't the kanima anymore…at least, we believed so."

"I didn't have much of a choice," growled Derek. "If I didn't comply then they would have gotten it another way."

"You mean torture?"

"I mean by extracting my memories through their claws?" corrected Derek. "Remember when Peter implanted the images of my family's death?"

Scott nodded. He remembered the painful jab on the back of his neck and the burning sensation that came from the memories that were sent through his brain. He also remembered Derek showing him the wounds of the Originals' extraction.

"But, they _did_ extract the memories," argued Scott.

"I didn't know it at the time," defended Derek. "I thought if I told them about the kanima they wouldn't do it. I had to make a choice. Okay?" Derek took a deep breath. "But, they figured out I was hiding something."

"Me?"

"Yes," said Derek, soberly, "but, I buried you down deep. They didn't get to you. They stopped when they found out about the Argents."

Scott went quiet. He didn't look at Derek. Walking a bit away, he dug deep down inside of him. He could feel his own heart be eaten away by the darkness growing inside of him.

Jackson's death was his fault. All his fault. If he was more careful about his werewolf abilities, Jackson wouldn't have tried to become a werewolf; thus the kanima. He wouldn't be dead. If Derek, Stiles, and Deaton didn't try so hard to protect him, they could have focused more on Jackson or how to stop the Originals from hurting him.

But, it was too late. Every one was too focused on protecting Scott when they should have been protecting Jackson. Now, he's dead. And Scott couldn't do anything about it.

"I'm sorry Scott, but I had to choose at the time," said Derek, interrupting Scott's thought. "Either put you on their radar or surrender Jackson."

Derek put his hand on Scott's shoulder. "I tried to talk them out of killing him. Telling them that we cured him or whatever. They didn't believe it," he said. "Scott?"

Scott looked up. "I _am_ sorry about how he died," said Derek. "But, it was either sacrificing him or you."

"You should have sacrificed me," growled Scott. "I could have taken care of myself. I could have…I could have prevented Jackson's death. I would have talked them out of it."

"No you couldn't," said a new voice.

Derek and Scott looked behind to see Peter Hale standing nearby.

Derek's face glowed like hot fire. "Where have you been?"

Peter walked over, pretending to be hurt by Derek's snarl. "Well, hello to you too, dear nephew," he said. "I had business to take care of and, no, I don't feel like sharing."

Peter turned to Scott. "I've told you before Scott," he said. "Originals are the law. If they decide on something, it's final. Besides," Peter fixed his jacket, "even if Jackson were 'saved' they would have still killed him."

"What?! Why?" demanded Scott.

"Because of the chance that Jackson would return to that creature."

"And they didn't want that chance," said Derek and Peter nodded.

"Once a kanima, always a kanima," said Peter. "Couldn't risk the possibility of him turning back."

Scott leaned up against the wall. "So, there was never a chance in saving him?"

"Not from the Originals, no," answered Peter.

Scott's heart fell even lower and illness washed over him. Peter and Derek both noticed.

"Don't go blaming yourself, Scott," said Peter. "You wouldn't be able to change his fate."

Scott dismissed Peter's assurance. "I have to go to work."

Scott went to turn out of the alley, but Derek stopped him. "Wait, Scott, we still need to talk."

"About what?" demanded Scott. "Huh? The Originals just killed one of my friends! They did their job now. They'll be gone. I won't have to see my father anymore. So, you can stop protecting me." Scott pulled his arm away from Derek.

"They're not done," interrupted Peter.

Scott stopped moving. "What?"

"They know about the Argents," said Peter. "They're going to try to find a way to eliminate them."

"And they know about a lone wolf that attacked one of their own," added Derek, glaring down at Scott. "They're not done with Beacon Hills."

Peter gazed out of the alley. "In fact, they've only started," he said, looking over his shoulder at Derek and Scott. "And, they'll keep killing until they are satisfied."


	28. Chapter 28: Assistance

**Chapter 28: Assistance**

Harold was reading one of the random books he found shelved in the library. He wasn't obtaining any of what he was reading. It was something to do until nighttime when he and his gang ventured outside to pretend searching for the loose omega werewolf.

His father sat nearby. He was at the desk, gazing over a few papers that required his undivided attention. He stated he needed silence, but he allowed Harold to stay if he promised not to speak. Harold agreed, as he had no desire to speak to his father any further, fearing the mention of Scott would come out of his lips.

Finally, his father put down the papers. "I think it's a good time for you to search for this omega."

Harold put down his book and exited the room. He ushered his men to follow him as they headed to the front door. Though Flynn and Dirk are aware of the situation, they felt unsure of what their new plans were going to be. That much Harold can sense off them. But, he wasn't worried. He had a plan.

As they marched off down the corridor, the front doors opened revealing Harvey and his gang. Harvey looked cheerful upon seeing his older brother. He practically loped over to him with glee. Harold could smell the coppery scent of blood and spot some underneath Harvey's nails.

"Où avez-vous été?" asked Harold. "Papa me demandais." Harold did another sniff. "Et vous avez encore Kanima aurait du sang sur vous." (Where have you been? Dad was wondering. And you still have kanima blood on you.)

"Oh cher frère," cried Harvey. "J'ai une grande nouvelle" (Oh dear brother. I have great news!)

Harold's eyebrows rose up. "Vraiment?" (Really)

Harvey nodded and continued to speak in French. "That kanima. Before killing him, he gave me a name."

"What name?" replied Harold in French.

"The name of the possible omega that attacked me."

Harold became alert. "What name?"

Harvey grinned as he leaned closer to his brother and whispered. "McCall."

Harold's heart nearly stopped. "Are you sure?"

"The name, yes," replied Harvey. "But if it connected to the omega? I'm not quite sure yet."

Harvey wandered to the kitchen. Harold told his men to wait as he followed his brother.

"Yeah, we came home and I checked the phone book for a McCall," Harvey opened the fridge and bit into a chilled apple. "There are nine McCalls living in this damn county! So, we stalked the one in town, but saw nothing at the moment. No one was at the house."

Harold muscles relaxed greatly, but Harvey didn't noticed. He continued talking about his day's errands. "Then, we checked the surrounding cities, but nothing," he said. "So, I think the Beacon Hills McCall is the one." Harvey paused to eat some more of his apple. "I was thinking about the two of us staking out the residence. What do you say?"

Harold sighed and tried to act brotherly while covering up his raging nerves. "Harvey, you've done enough for one night. Why don't you let me do this one?"

"I'm not tired," insisted Harvey. "I can go with you? Be like one of our old adventures."

"Yeah, well, I think if more than two people stalk a place out, they'll get suspicious," claimed Harold. "So, why don't you just stay behind tonight? I'll check it out and then we can stake the 'McCall' tomorrow day. Okay?"

Harvey groaned. "Why do you have to do it? I was the one that got the info _and_ I got attacked!"

"Dad gave me the responsibility of finding the rogue omega," said Harold. "Plus, Dad wants him alive now. So, that's why you're staying behind."

"Why does Dad want the omega alive?"

"He thinks there might be more to this omega," answered Harold.

"Really? He's just a stupid werewolf cub."

Harold couldn't argue with that statement. "Yes, I know, but just stay here and let me handle it for tonight."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll stay behind like a good dog."

Harold turned back, but groaned inside. Harvey was dramatic. Always has been since he was a young child. But what was worse is that Harvey now had invaluable information. Information that could threaten his son's life at Beacon Hills. Harold was thankful that Harvey returned to the mansion after the other failures instead of immediately setting off to hunt down McCall. Now, Harold only had a limited time until Harvey would tell their father of the news and the family would demand to eliminate Scott.

But, with the agreement to his father, Harold couldn't waltz into town and notify Scott of his impending danger. He could talk to Deaton, but would Deaton be strong enough to keep Scott out of harms way? Harold knew, though knowledgeable, Deaton was still human. He couldn't compete against a werewolf, let alone an Original.

There was only one person who could possibly protect his son.

Harold snapped his fingers to his men and they exited out of the mansion. One questioned what they were to do.

Harold spoke over his shoulder. "We're going to visit Hale."

_**BREAK**_

Derek was down in his underground lair. Isaac was with him. Boyd and Erica left to go to their respective homes. Isaac had no home and usually spent his nights in the underground lair, freezing in the night. But, tonight, Derek promised to give him extra fighting lessons to help his ability increase when it came to fight for his life against the Argents and possible villains.

"So…what are we going to do?"

Derek picked up a rod. "I'm going to try to teach you to use your other senses," he said. "Like Scott at the beginning, you seem to only use sight. Your other senses have heightened and can be used for defense and offense."

Isaac eyed the rod. "So, what's the rod for?"

Derek twirled the rod with his fingers. "I want you to close your eyes."

"Close my eyes?"

Derek groaned. "Yes! Close your eyes."

Isaac eyed suspiciously at the rod before shutting his eyes. "Okay. Now what?"

"Take a deep breath and concentrate," said Derek. "Now, focus and think. Recognize your surroundings. Not, by memory though. Use your senses and try to figure out where I am."

Isaac tried, but it was more difficult than Derek made it appear. He could sense a few things. He knew for one that Derek was in the room. He could also hear the sound of the rod tapping against Derek's palm. He tried harder and sensed a new noise. A whizzing sound that was getting closer and closer to his stomach.

"Urgh!" Isaac fell over and opened his eyes to the dark ceiling.

Derek stepped up and bent over Isaac. "You didn't concentrate hard enough."

Isaac pushed himself up on his elbows. "Did you hit me?"

"Yes," answered Derek. "You're supposed to use these new senses and stop the rod from hitting you."

"Should have said that in the first place."

Derek helped Isaac up. "Let's do it again."

Isaac closed his eyes again, panting as he tried to contain his pain. Isaac concentrated once again. He heard Derek's light footsteps moving about and the smell of old oil and rust. Frowning, he tried to listen for the whizzing sound, but he became distracted. There was a new sound. It sounded like nails growing. Then he smelled something new. Some kind of fragrance that he was alien to.

"Derek?"

No response.

"Derek!" he yelled, panicked now. He opened his eyes to see Derek standing in front of him.

But, Derek wasn't looking at Isaac. His eyes were focused. Isaac could see his was aware of something new too.

"Someone is here," said Isaac.

Derek nodded. "Not just anyone."

Then, three men appeared in the archway. Derek turned and faced the familiar faces of the Original and his henchmen.

Remembering his last encounter, Derek (gesturing Isaac to follow) kneeled down, despite his hatred for this embarrassment. Though, it was better than being beaten up or, worse, killed.

The Original strolled forward. "Get up," he grunted and he looked over at Isaac. "Get rid of the Beta."

The henchmen moved and picked up Isaac. The young beta trembled and looked over at Derek for help. Derek nodded for Isaac to go with them. Fearful, Isaac let the henchmen take him away as the Original waited for the three to be gone.

Derek tossed the rod away. "May I ask why you are here? Or are you here to kill me?"

Harold shook his head gravely. "No. I'm not here to rip you to shreds," he said. "Why would do you ask?"

"You killed Jackson."

"Jackson?"

"The kanima! You killed a teenager. One of your son's friends," said Derek. "And, now he _blames_ me."

Harold stared, surprised. "Scott blames you? Why?"

Derek sighed. "He knows that I told you about Jackson being the kanima."

Harold thought for a moment. "That's going to complicate things."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Complicate things? What are you saying?"

Harold exhaled deeply. "I came here for a favor. Well, rather, I came here for assistance."

"What favor?" snapped Derek, bluntly.

Harold peered at Derek for a moment, considering if he needed to remind the young Alpha proper respect. But, he pushed it aside for the important matter. "You have a better relationship with my son than I do," he said, "which is why I need you."

Derek was a bit surprised. "How would I be useful?"

"Because I know you would help Scott even if he didn't want it," said Harold. "And, I know you'll protect him when I cannot."

Derek became uneasy. "What are you asking?"

Harold took a deep breath. "My family is now aware of Scott's existence. _Jackson_ apparently ratted him out before his demise."

"So, now they'll want me to go and get my son," explained Harold. "I can't do that. They'll discover his true identity. Then, of course, they'll take him away from this place."

"I thought…you would want your son with you?"

Harold was quiet for a long moment. "Scott doesn't want to join the family pack."

"Scott doesn't like to join packs."

"I've realized that," said Harold. "But my family will still take him away. Then, Melissa will send the police onto us. We can't have that type of press, Derek."

"Okay," he said, understanding the importance of keeping a low profile. Especially if one is supernatural. "I still don't understand the favor you're asking."

"I need you to hide Scott from my family."

"Hide Scott?"

"Keep him somewhere safe," said Harold. "Somewhere away from Beacon Hills. Cover up his tracks and scent. I don't want him found."

Harold growled furiously to himself. "It would be easier if Scott agreed to come with the family, but he's stubborn like his mother."

Harold clapped his hands together. "Get Scott out of here by tomorrow night. It's when they'll start searching for him."

"Scott won't just go along with the plan," said Derek. "He won't leave if he knows there's a chance that his mother or friends are in danger."

"Which is why I'm asking you not to tell him."

Derek paused. "You mean…kidnap?"

"I mean do what you need to do to get him out," fumed Harold. "Chloroform him! Drag him away! Threaten him! I don't care how! I just need you to do it."

"And then what?" questioned Derek. "Hold him against his will for the rest of his life."

"No!" said Harold, "Just hold him until it's safe."

"And how will I know it's safe?"

"I'll make contact with you," said Harold. "Now, will you do it willingly or will I have to force you to do it?"

Derek glared, but he had no choice in the matter. Deep down, he knew Harold was right. Scott had to leave Beacon Hills. For only a few days or weeks. Maybe even a month. But, if Scott truly wanted to be free, this was the only way.

Derek nodded. "Fine. I'll take care of it."

Harold nodded. "Thank you." He let out a long sigh of relief. "Okay, I have to go and roam around. And think of some bullshit to give to my father." Then, Harold muttered softly. "This would've been a lot easier if Scott just joined."

Harold headed to the exit, but paused underneath the archway. He turned for one last look at Derek. "Thank you, Derek," he said. "You really are like your father."

Then, Harold climbed the stairs and left Derek alone in the underground lair, thinking about the difficult task ahead of him.

_**BREAK**_

Scott hadn't been home all day. He had been with Stiles after working at the vet's office. The two mostly discussed Jackson's murder and the Original's new agenda, using a card game as their diversion.

They both agreed that their next target would be the Argents. Scott said he was going to follow his Dad tomorrow, see where the Originals are camping out and gather intelligence. Stiles didn't like the idea, but as he was stuck in the hospital, he couldn't prevent Scott from doing it.

"What if you get caught?" he said. "Then, they would kill you."

"Unless my Dad's there," said Scott. "Despite him being an ass, I don't think he'll let them kill me."

"Are you sure?"

"About seventy-five percent," said Scott.

"Fine. Whatever," said Stiles. "It's not like Humpty Dumpy can do anything to help or stop you."

"Stiles!" said Scott urgently. "We need to find out what their game plan is. Then, maybe, we can prevent more hospital visits and deaths."

Stiles groaned. "Fine! But let this be on record, I don't necessary agree with the plan."

"Noted," said Scott as he checked his watch. "I need to head home. School tomorrow and everything."

Stiles nodded and wiggled underneath his covers. "Is it sad to say that I _miss_ school?"

Scott stood up from his seat. "Yes, it is. But, it's understandable in your condition."

Stiles leaned back in his cot and said goodbye and goodnight to Scott. Melissa was working front desk that night and Scott went by to say his goodnights.

"Be careful," she said, warningly. "Check your surroundings. Locks the doors, including your bedroom. Have the bat nearby."

"Mom!" said Scott. "Don't worry. I get the drill."

Melissa still didn't look content, but she smiled and kissed Scott on the cheek. "All right. Have a good night sleep."

Scott hopped on his bike and rod fast down the roads back to his two-story house. He leaned his bike against the back wall of the house and made his way to front to unlock the door.

As he placed the key into the lock, he smelled something new. Something very strong and familiar.

Scott was about to turn around when he felt a prick in his neck. Claws came out and Scott turned and saw a blurred person standing there on his porch, holding what looked like to be a needle. Scott tried to fight back the intruder, but the chemical surging in his veins were weakening him. Slowly, his nails retracted back into his fingers and he succumbed to the obscurity.


	29. Chapter 29: AWOL

**Chapter 29: AWOL**

Stiles stood in the middle of the hallway. He scanned around the surroundings while fear trickled along his spine. He started to run down the hallway, calling out a name that echoed between the walls.

"Scott!" he yelled. "Scott!"

Stiles stopped when he got to the glass door. He gazed out, but only saw darkness. Nothing resembled Beacon Hills. Where was he? Stiles turned to another hallway, hoping to find another exit. He hurried to the nearest door and tried to open it. No budge. He went to the next and the next, but no door opened.

He became desperate. Frantically, he ran down every hallway he saw, grasping at door handles, but nothing would free him from the maze.

"Scott! Scott! Anybody! Help me!" cried Stiles.

Stiles cursed and ran his fingers through his hair. He tried another door, but like all the others, it did not opened. Stiles leaned against the wall, surrendering to the maze of hallways when he heard someone call his name.

_Stiles…Stiles…Stiles_

Stiles sat up and glanced around the white bared walls. "Hello?"

_Stiles! Stiles!_

His name echoed around him and the voice got louder and louder. Suddenly, Stiles felt himself falling and her jerked up to stop the fall. The hallway disappeared and Stiles found himself in his hospital room. He had been dreaming. The minute he woke, a hand grasped his mouth closed and Stiles struggled, his eyes flickered up to see Derek's face.

"Stiles!" he whispered rashly. "Shut up! It's just me."

Stiles stopped wiggling to show he had calmed down. He shoved Derek's hand off his mouth. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. "You don't go creeping in the middle of the night and grab someone."

Derek ignored Stiles' quip. "Where's Scott?"

"What?"

"Do you know where Scott is?" repeated Derek. "I need to talk to him."

Scott rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up in his cot. "Did you try calling him?"

"He's not answering."

"Maybe because he's asleep," said Stiles. "Like the rest of the world…or at least in this town."

"I checked his house idiot," said Derek. "He's not there."

Stiles' face paled considerably and he dropped his head. "Oh no…"

"What?" asked Derek, sharply.

Stiles pushed the covers off. "Scott was planning to find the Originals' hideout and spy on them for information."

Derek let out a frustrated groan. "Why would he do that?"

"On record, I told him it was a bad idea."

Derek glared and Stiles closed his mouth. Derek opened Stiles' window and sniffed the air a few times. Stiles pulled his covers back over him as the night's chill caused his skin to prickle.

"Can you smell him?" asked Stiles.

"No. I'm trying to sense the Original's hideout," informed Derek. "They're about five miles out of the city."

"What's going to happened to Scott if they find him?" questioned Stiles.

"Don't worry about it," said Derek. "I'm going to stop your guys' stupid plan."

"Correction. Scott's plan," said Stiles. "And, I'm coming with you."

Derek spun around. "No. You're staying here."

"No," retorted Stiles. "I'm coming with you. Scott's my friend and I'm getting cabin fever here."

"I'm not taking you with me."

"And you're not leaving without me."

Derek stalked forward to Stiles, his red eyes glowing, but Stiles stood guard. "All I have to do is yell and your furry ass will be in jail." Stiles crossed his arms. "Now, turn around while I change."

Derek fumed, but he turned around as Stiles changed out of his hospital costume. "I'm an Alpha and taking orders from a human. No less Stiles."

"I'm not deaf you know," called Stiles.

"I'm aware and don't care," said Derek.

Stiles finished changing out of his hospital robes and into a pair of jeans and T-shirt that his father left behind days ago. Derek didn't appreciate that Stiles was not tagging along.

"All right," said Stiles. "Let's go."

Derek opened the window fully and his claws came out. Stiles was bewildered. "What are you doing?"

"Scaling down," answered Derek.

"There's a front door," said Stiles. "We just walk out."

Derek rolled his eyes at him. "Yes…because it's normal to see a strange man walk out with a patient in the middle of the night. I thought you were the smarter one?"

Stiles wasn't amused. "Well, can't we get a gurney and a blanket or something? I can hide underneath it and you can pretend to be a nurse. Exit out the back."

"I'm not playing dress-up!"

"How the hell am I going to scale down a building?"

"We're only on the second floor!"

"I still can't scale it," said Stiles, indicting his hospital band. "How am I going to get out?"

Derek glanced around. "Well, looks like you're staying here then."

"I'm not leaving my friend in danger! And, especially with you," said Stiles. "I'm coming with you."

Derek rolled his eyes and frowned. "Find, you'll have to get on my back."

"What?"

"Unless, you're thinking about just jumping out the window?"

"No…no," said Stiles. "I'll just…" Stiles threw his head back and gave a frustrated sigh. "Fine. Piggyback this…whatever."

"I don't like it either," growled Derek. "Now, come on. Don't got all night."

Stiles dragged his feet over to Derek and, his cheeks rosy, wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. "We won't ever talk about this to anybody right?"

"Agreed," said Derek. "Now hold on."

Stiles grabbed his wrists tightly as Derek climbed out the window. He extended his claws out and gripped the bricks. Stiles' legs were now dangling above thirty feet. Derek slowly descended to the ground. His claws scrapped tiny specks of brick and his foot accidently slipped and hit Stiles in the knee. Stiles winced.

"Okay, easy there," he said. "I'm still fragile."

"You're always fragile," grunted Derek. "Now, shut up."

Derek continued his descent to the ground as Stiles watched the grass get closer to his dangling feet. Stiles felt Derek's grizzle rubbing against his wrist and tried to move it away.

As the reached a good distance from the ground, Derek unclawed the wall and fell to the ground. Forgetting about his order to hold tight, Stiles let go of Derek and landed in a heap on the ground, his knee throbbing.

"Oh god…that hurt," Stiles moaned as Derek stood over him.

"I told you to hold on!" barked Derek.

"Yeah, well, I forget when you decided to free fall it," retorted Stiles rolled onto his stomach and tried to push himself into a standing position. "Er…a little help here?"

Derek grumbled as he picked Stiles up and allowed Stiles to lean on him. Derek helped Stiles to his car, half dragging and half supporting Stiles' injured leg. "What's the point of you tagging along if you can't walk?" asked Derek.

"I'm fine," said Stiles. "My knee is just a little hurt from the landing. It'll be fine. I can walk."

They got into Derek's car and Stiles sighed in relief that he was no longer moving again. He buckled his seatbelt as Derek ran the engine.

"When we find Scott and head back to the hospital," said Stiles as Derek pulled out the hospital parking lot. "We're going in through the front door."

"And when we find Scott," said Derek, "I'm going to rip out both your throats with my teeth."

Stiles stared uneasily at Derek, unsure if he meant it or not. But, he remained quiet as they drove down the hilly roads of Beacon Hills toward the supposed Originals' hideout to rescue Scott from a potential dangerous ending.

_**BREAK**_

Scott did not remember entering a room with stained walls and moldy carpet. In fact, he could only remember his front door, a pricking sensation in his neck, and a blurred figure.

Scott sat up and examined his surroundings, trying to use his senses to find out where he was and who took him here. Scott went to get up off the floor when he realized that his hands were chained to an old radiator pipe with an unusual pair of handcuffs.

He tried to break the handcuffs, pulled the chains hard against the railings, but with no success. He wolfed out and tried again, but nothing. Not even a slight bent in the chains.

There was one window in the room. The moon's light cascaded on the floor, revealing an unnatural pattern caused by growing black mold spreading across the carpet like leprosy.

Scott tried to move closer to the window in order to get an idea where he was, but his chained hands limited his movement. He could only move five inches in any direction from the radiator.

So, Scott called out. "Hello? Hey! Anyone here? Hello! Derek? Derek!"

Nothing. Not a single sound came from outside the room except for the squeaks of mice Scott could hear from the floor below.

Scott tried again. "Hello! Dad?"

He wondered if his Dad was involved in this charade. He knew his father was hiding something up his sleeve. Did he hire a person to kidnap him and bring him here? Scott grew worried as he thought of his mother returning home to find him missing.

With the strong emotions invading his whole body, Scott wolfed out again and desperately attacked the chairs. He yanked and tugged with all the strength he had, but the chains only jingled the sound of failure.

Scott surrendered and slumped. What are these chains? Did they have some sort of magical ability to hold off any strength? Like unbreakable metal?

Then, Scott came up with an idea. He had seen shows how people get out of handcuffs. He positioned his fingers carefully and, with a deep breath, he broke his thumb.

Grunting in pain and breathing slowly to control himself, he tried to maneuver his hand through the chains when he got stuck again. Scott checked his thumb to see that his werewolf abilities healed his injured thumb. He slacked back against the wall and huffed.

He was trapped.

_**BREAK**_

"This is where the Originals are camping at?"

"Yes."

"Wow!" murmured Stiles as he crouched next to Derek behind a fallen log. "They do it style. You might want to take a few notes."

Derek sent a death glare to Stiles. "Or not," added Stiles. "You pick good enough places."

Derek focused back on the mansion. The mansion was an old three-story Châteauesque designed with white stone and white pillars with carved designs at the top as it held up a stone balcony above the entrance way. Its steeply-pitched roof gave it towering affect over Stiles and Derek.

Scott could only imagine how the interior was. "So…is Scott here?"

"I don't know yet," answered Derek. "If Scott went inside, I won't be able to get a scent."

"Can you, um, smell him at all?"

"I can smell a lot of things at the moment, but not his scent at least," responded Derek.

Stiles looked at the mansion, spying at every window and door. Thick curtains covered the white slender with half circles windows that lined the walls. Stiles could see nothing.

"Well, they have the curtains drawn," said Stiles. "Can't see anything."

"That because they don't want to be spied on."

"Smart," said Stiles. "Very clever of them."

"Shut up."

"Okay," uttered Stiles and he waited for Derek to come to a conclusion.

He did wonder if Scott was inside, searching through cabinets and drawers for intelligence. But, Stiles prayed that Scott was not inside and simply crouching behind a log like them.

"Well?" asked Stiles, every minute ticking at his nerves. "Can you sense him?"

Derek's brows tightened. "No. He might be inside, which we'll have to use some sort of distraction."

"Distraction?"

"To get in and out without being ripped to shreds, yeah," said Derek.

"I don't like the sound of that," said Stiles. "Why don't you just howl or something? That'll get Scott's attention right?"

"And the rest of the werewolves currently residing there," snapped Derek. "We don't want their attention Stiles!"

"It's a little too late for that."

Stiles and Derek jumped. They turned around to see Harold standing behind them, looking contempt at the two of them. Stiles grabbed a nearby tree branch and held it out in front of him protectively.

"Stay back!" said Stiles, holding the branch out like a lightsaber. "Or I'll use this."

Harold arched his eyebrows as he dubiously stared at the branch. With a quick snatch of the branch, he crumbled the tree branch into splinters and mulch. Stiles stared at the fallen debris of his weapon.

Stiles stepped behind Derek. "You got this," he said to the Alpha werewolf.

Harold turned his attention to Derek, his eyes darkening to a deep red. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought I gave you specific orders?"

"That's why I'm here," replied Derek, politely. "I'm looking for Scott."

"And your first stop was here?" questioned Harold.

"I tried his house," answered Derek. "And his phone. He didn't answer. Stiles said that he might have come here."

Harold gazed at Stiles. "And why would Scott come here?"

"Because we know your planning something," replied Stiles. "And, to let you know, Scott and I have a good track record on stopping evil people's plans."

"Shut up," said Derek and Harold in union.

Harold turned back to Derek. "So, Scott came here to spy on me? Not a smart move."

"Yeah, well, I believe he might be inside," said Derek. "I can't get a good scent on him being outside."

Harold concentrated and sniffed the air. "He's not here."

"Are you sure?" asked Derek.

Harold frowned. "No offense to your abilities, but mine are better," he said, coldly, "And, he's not here."

"You didn't even go inside?" complained Stiles.

"I don't _need _to," growled Harold. "I can smell any scent miles away. I know Scott's. He's not anywhere near here."

Stiles' forehead creased into two lines as his nerves tingled. Fear jolted his heart. "Call him again," he said, hitting Derek in the shoulder.

Derek growled at Stiles, but the teenager didn't care. Derek took out his cell phone and dialed Scott. The three waited. Stiles kept fidgeting with every ring. But, it went to Scott's voicemail. Derek hung up.

"He's not answering," said Derek. "Sixth time."

Harold remained composed, but Stiles could see through the façade. Fear dimmed his eyes as the he thought. Stiles noticed anger by the pulsing vein in the Original's neck. Stiles would have been impressed of the Original's self control if he wasn't already occupied by his own fears.

"If Scott's not here," said Stiles, "then, where is he?"

Harold brooded for a moment, before speaking quietly. "Somewhere with someone I don't like."

Stiles gaped at the Original. "Really? That narrows the search."

Harold's eyes fell to slits. "Whoever took Scott either knew our plans ahead of time or knew of Scott's heritage," he said shortly. "My best bet is that they knew of his heritage."

"Only myself, Deaton, and Peter know of Scott's heritage," said Derek, but added. "And Stiles, but who else knows?"

Stiles shrugged innocently when both werewolves stared at him. "I-I don't know! I've been in the hospital! And, I certainly didn't say anything about Scott."

Harold seethed as he tensely spoke. "Well, whoever took him, they're planning something big…and deadly."

_**BREAK**_

Scott tried again to remove himself from the chains, but with no avail. He was indeed trapped in the forsaken room. His werewolf abilities had no advantage over the mysterious chains that clasped around his wrists and the radiator. Stiles looked out the window and noticed the sky was now a lighter shade of blue. Dawn has crept up on the horizon and, soon, his mother will notice his absence and panic.

He wished he didn't drag his mother into the supernatural world. Since he was young, he watched his mother struggle to care for him, trying her best to give him the best. He swore to himself that he would do his best to be a good son, so she could have one less worry. But, not as a werewolf, it only seemed to add more stress to their household and his disappearance would be devastation to his mother.

Examining the chains again to find any sort of weakness, the door opened behind Scott. The young werewolf spun around and backed up against the wall. The chains jingled when his hands couldn't continue with Scott's demand. They remained stuck in their position next to the old radiator.

"Easy there," grunted a familiar voice. "Nothing's going to happen to you. You're perfectly safe."

Scott peered at the newcomer. "Mr. Argent?"

Stepping into dawn's light, Gerald Argent stood victorious over Scott. "Morning McCall," he said. "Sleep well?"


	30. Chapter 30: Agony

**Chapter 30: Agony**

Scott gasped. "You?"

Gerald grabbed a chair with a brown bag on top from outside and pulled it into the room. He sat down and folded his hands on his lap, watching intensely at Scott.

"You're surprised?" said Gerald.

Scott thought back to Allison. Did she tell her family? He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. She wouldn't betray him. But, he was in a room with her grandfather. And, from the tense expression and glint in Gerald's eyes, the meeting wasn't a friendly visit.

"Why am I here?" demanded Scott.

"Why don't _I_ ask the questions," said Gerald. "After all, you're in no position seeing as you're a prisoner."

Scott glared. Gerald noticed the redness rings along Scott's wrist. He smirked. "I see you tried to get out of those chains. I'm afraid you can't," he said as Scott's confidence flittered. "Those chains are composed of silver with bits of mountain ash."

"What do you want?" asked Scott.

Gerald's smile grew devilish. He leaned forward and whispered. "I know what you are."

Scott was confused. "You already know that I'm a werewolf," he said. "That's not new."

The hunter shook his head. "That's not what I'm referring about," he sneered. "I know you're the last descendent of the original werewolves."

Scott nearly choked on his own breath. Gerald eyes leapt with glee from the look of Scott's frightened face. "You think you could have hide it from us?" raised Gerald. "From my family? I did some background check on you Scott. I know who your father is, despite his absence in your life."

"I don't know what you're talking about," lied Scott, terribly that Gerald chuckled.

"That was pathetic," he said. "It's too late to lie, Scott. I checked your records. You're an Original."

"Maybe you weren't raised by them, but you're still a member of their pack," continued Gerald. "And, that's why you're here."

"If you're thinking of using me to get to them," muttered Scott. "It won't work."

Gerald darkly chuckled. "Nice try, Scott, but I wasn't born yesterday. I've been here on this Earth and studying the supernatural for a very long time," he said. "And, now, I need one more thing to complete my family's mission."

Scott scrunched up closer to the radiator, still trying to get the chains off his wrists. The prideful expression masked on Gerald face didn't sit well with Scott. Gerald was not the same Argent as Chris or Allison. He was a killer.

"I need you to tell me where the Originals are hiding," said Gerald though a thick, fake sincerity voice. "Where are they hiding Scott?"

The young werewolf shrugged. "How the hell should I know? I'm not a member of their pack!"

Darkness shadowed Gerald's face. "Don't lie to me, McCall," he warned. "Tell me! Where are the Originals hiding?"

"I don't know!"

Gerald got up from his seat and went to the brown, duffel bag that came in with the chair. He unzipped it and began searching through it until he found a long prodding metal. Scott's curiosity got to him as he tried to get a closer look at the object in Gerald's hand.

Gerald turned his attention to Scott, the prodding metal in his hand. "Do you know what this is?"

Scott shrugged. "A metal rod?"

"It's an electric cow prod," corrected Gerald. "It can send at least 500,000 volts through your body."

Scott's muscles tensed up as Gerald turned the electric prod on. "Now, one last time," he said, menacingly. "Where is your family?"

Scott's heart rate increased at every sizzle and spark the electric prod made. He moved his gaze from the prod to Gerald. "I don't know."

Gerald shook his head. "Wrong answer, Scott."

Before Scott even flinch, Gerald thrust the electric prod into Scott's chest.

_**BREAK**_

Harold, Derek, and Stiles piled into Derek's car with Stiles forced into the back against his wish. They drove out of the woods and back onto the town roads. Derek sped easily down the hilly roads as Stiles held onto dear life in the back.

"Okay, lead foot, slow it down," said Stiles. "I don't want to die tonight."

Derek did not ease up. "Peter might know where Scott is. Hell, he might even be with him."

"Peter's alive," mused Harold. "I thought he was dead?"

Stiles stuck his head between the seats. "Well, he was. He just recently came back from the dead." Harold looked puzzled. "It's a long story for another time," added Stiles and then he turned to Derek. "Do you even know where he is?"

"Not a hundred percent sure, but I have a hunch," said Derek.

"Great! A hunch," muttered Stiles as Derek pushed his head back.

"Where would that be?" questioned Harold.

"At the old loft," said Derek. "There's some old factories on the outskirts of town. He might be there."

"How often do you see him?"

"Peter comes and goes to be honest…" Derek admitted. "I don't really know what he does."

"I can tell you," volunteered Stiles. "He wrecks lives."

"Shut up!" said the two werewolves in union as Harold commented. "Maybe we should drop the human off."

"What?" cried Stiles. "No way! I'm not going back. Not when Scott's in danger."

"Oh yeah? What's your plan Stiles?" questioned Derek. "You're not exactly able to fight."

"I can still be useful."

"Not really," said Harold. "You're more of a nuisance."

"I think of you the same way," retorted Stiles as he slumped back in his seat. "Besides, Derek! I saved your life a few times. Remember?"

"You did not."

"That bullet?" reminded Stiles.

"Oh, you mean when you nearly fainted?"

"I did not faint!" defended Stiles. "And, anyone would faint at the sight of a chopped arm." Stiles help up his fingers, striking them up as he counted. "Second, the pool! I kept you from drowning. Third…er…um…I helped you on multiple occasions that can't come to my mind now but will eventually."

Derek's eyebrows arched high and he exhaled shortly. "I need an ejection button."

"What? Why?"

"So that I can easily kick you out," said Derek as they pulled off to the side.

Stiles looked out his window to see an old building with brown stains striping the walls. Weeds broke through the concrete and, stretching its long green limbs. A vine crawled up the side of the building near yellow-tinted windows. Bare-limbed trees hunched over as the wind crushed down on the area, causing dead foliage to scatter about on the floor.

"What's with you Hales and picking creepy places?" asked Stiles.

Derek and Harold climbed out of the car. Stiles followed suit as Derek perked up. "He's here."

The trio headed to the metal door as Stiles kept a watchful eye. He remembered Peter's trickery and was on constant guard as they entered the building. Luckily, Peter was sitting in a rickety chair, looking at a map.

"Usually, I would prefer if you called ahead," said Peter as his head rose. "But, in this case, I'll make an acceptation."

Peter strode around his desk, smiling. "Harry!"

Harold gave an approving nod. "Hello Peter. Glad to see you are well."

"No thanks to your companions," said Peter, eyeing both Derek and Stiles.

Neither Derek nor Stiles were grateful to see Peter. Their past relationships and encounters never went well. Stiles kept a good distance from the former Alpha and remained slightly behind Derek.

Peter glanced at each face. "From the looks on your faces," he said. "This isn't a social call."

"Scott's missing," informed Harold, gravely. "We thought maybe—"

"That I had something to do about it?" interrupted Peter.

"Wouldn't be the first," mumbled Stiles.

Peter Hale turned to the teenager. "Stiles," he said, "I'm a werewolf. I can hear your heartbeat. I can definitely hear you mutter under your breath."

Stiles took note. "Got it, but you didn't answer the question," he said. "Did you?"

"If I took Scott, he would be here wouldn't he?" Peter growled at Stiles, before looking sympathetically to Harold. "He's missing? Did you check his usual spots?"

"No, we just came straight to you," said Stiles, which got him disproving looks. "Of course we did!"

Peter looked to Derek and Harold. "Who brought Stiles?"

"Himself." Harold and Derek said together, but Derek spoke to this uncle. "We think someone else in the city knows about Scott."

Peter pondered. "Well, there's you, me, Harold, obviously, Stiles, and, of course, Dr. Deaton."

"Well, we can rule everyone here out," stated Stiles. "And it can't be Dr. Deaton. He wouldn't do something like that."

Peter rubbed his chinned and thought. "What do you think Harold?" he asked to the Original. "You know him."

Harold shook his head. "Deaton is clever. He wouldn't kidnap Scott."

"Then that leaves just one other person," said Peter.

Everyone stared with anticipation rising in their chest at Peter's announcement. "What do you mean _one_ other person?" asked Derek. "Who else knows?"

Peter's eyes weighed heavily on Harold. "The Argents," he said. "They would know."

_**BREAK**_

Gerald removed the electric prod from Scott.

The smell of melted flesh clogged Scott's nostrils while his werewolf abilities slowly healed his charcoaled skin. Breathing deeply to control the pain, Scott looked back up to Gerald to see him grinning from ear to ear like a child on Christmas morning.

"I can stop the pain, Scott," he said, patronizing Scott. "All you have to do is tell me what I want."

"I. Don't. Know," insisted Scott between breaths.

Gerald clicked his tongue. "That's not what I wanted hear. Here, have another dose."

Gerald prodded Scott again. The electric energy waved over his whole body. Scott lost control as his body twitched and jolted in every direction. His fangs sprung out as he growled and howled in pain. Muscles contracted and coiled, tightening in pain as the shocks kept coming and coming.

Though it only lasted minutes, to Scott, it seemed to have lasted hours. Weakly, Scott scooted back, dragging his crumpled body to the wall. Gerald twirled the prod between his fingers, watching satisfactorily at Scott's helpless attempt to ease the pain.

"The pain will only go away if you tell me where the others are," Gerald urged.

Scott panted, wishing for the days of asthma and being ignored by everyone in school. The days of sitting on the bench during lacrosse games and having Chinese takeout with his mother at the dinner table (with Stiles occasionally joining in).

He groaned as he again watched his raw flesh slowly heal from the torture. "I don't know where they are."

"Defiance will get you know where Scott," advised Gerald. "It will only leave you dead."

"Then, I guess I'm dead," said Scott.

Gerald stared intensely at the young werewolf with fiery eyes. His mouth thinned as he studied Scott's contorted face.

"No…you're hiding something," said Gerald as he turned his back to Scott. "I guess the prod isn't torturous enough."

Gerald dug further into his bag and finally pulled a dagger out. Scott stared skeptically at the dagger. Gerald knew werewolves could heal. Why would he use a simple dagger?

Gerald returned to Scott, holding the dagger up for Scott to see. "You probably don't know what this is," he said. "In fact, you probably think it's a simple knife. It isn't."

He held the dagger close to Scott's nose. "Go ahead. Have a sniff."

Scott didn't need to sniff the dagger. He could smell it already. "Wolfsbane."

"Created it especially for you werewolves," said Gerald. "Had the maker melt the silver and throw in some wolfsbane to make the blade. Even better, the handle is made out of Mountain Ash."

Gerald admired the dagger. "It's a great weapon. No werewolf can deny the hell they went through when they faced this little knife."

Sweat trickled down the side of Scott's face. A cold sensation developed in his veins as his eyes watched the dagger's blade flickered in the morning's light. Scott's stomach instantly pushed further back into him. Gerald stepped closer.

"I would hate to have to put this into you, Scott," he said. "Even some of the stronger werewolves died from this dagger. Now, I'll be lenient and ask again: Where are the Originals hiding?"

Scott eyed the dagger's blade and glanced up to Gerald's menacing face. He wouldn't accept that he didn't know where his father camped.

"Like I said before," murmured Scott. "I don't know."

Like lightening bolt, Gerald stabbed the knife into Scott's leg. Scott screamed as his leg burst into a fiery pain, as if his leg was being burned off. The chains holding him hostage rattled in fury as he tried to break free and rid the devil's dagger.

Gerald slowly removed the dagger from Scott's leg. The wound was deep as blood oozed out and spilled upon the carpet. The wound did not heal. Tears sprung to Scott's eyes as the burning sensation in his leg continued.

"The wound won't heal for a few hours," said Gerald. "The wolfsbane in the metal prevents the healing process."

Gerald straightened up and wiped Scott's blood from the blade with a napkin. "I'll let you mull over your decision."

Gerald opened the door, but paused before exiting. "Oh, and a little reminder," he said, pointing to a vent, "this vent is currently drafting vaporized wolfsbane into this room. But, don't worry. It's not enough to kill you. Just enough to weakened you."

Scott tried raised his head, pain etched in his face as he remembered his last encounter with vaporized wolfsbane. Gerald smiled. "Make sure you don't bleed on my carpet."

He then exited the door and Scott heard it lock. Groaning and his leg seizuring from the incredible throbbing pain the dagger caused. Scott tugged again on the chains, but he knew already it was pointless.

He was going to die. Alone.

_**BREAK**_

The three werewolves and one boy surrounded a desk, examining a map that Peter managed to obtain. Peter spread the large map onto the desk and smoothed the wrinkles and creases. He took out a red marker and started circling city dots.

"I've watched the Argents for some time since my resurrection," admitted Peter. "In my observations, I realized that Gerald Argent has been planning something, but I'm not quite sure what that is yet. But, with Scott's absence, I think it's now clear."

"What's clear?" asked Stiles

"That the Argents, especially Gerald, are involved in Scott's disappearance," answered Peter.

Stiles wondered about Allison. Would she know what her grandfather was planning? Would she risk Scott's life? Then, he remembered what happened to her mother and started to question the possibility of her helping her grandfather to avenge her mother's untimely death.

Harold gazed down at the possibilities. "He would have to do it out of our range," he said. "So, miles away from Beacon Hills."

"Unless he covers the scent using wolfsbane or Mountain Ash," added Derek. "That blocks the senses."

"But if they are using those two things, Scott would be causing a lot of noise," reminded Peter. "He'll be howling; thus grabbing people's attention and concern. The Argents wouldn't want that."

"So nothing nearby towns or homes," said Stiles and he grabbed the red marker from Peter's hand. He stared putting 'X' over a few of the circles. "There," he said as he examined his handiwork, but his shoulders sagged. "But, there are still a lot of places to check."

Derek groaned and rubbed his head. "We could check out each place?"

"That's too much time," said Harold. "No we wou—"

A cell phone started ringing, the sounds bouncing off the walls like a ping-pong Derek went to check his, but discovered it wasn't his phone. Harold took his out of his pocket and glanced down at the screen.

"Everyone be quiet," he ordered as he answered the call. "Oui Harvey," he greeted. "Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?" (Yes, Harvey. What do you want?)

Stiles looked to Derek and Peter. "Is that French?" he whispered, only to be hit in the shoulder by Derek to keep.

"Non, je vais bien. Essayer de localiser McCall," continued Harold. "Oui. Je vais vous appeler pour toute mise à jour. Je dois aller. Au revoir." (No, I'm fine. I'm locating McCall. Yes, I will call you for any updates. I gotta go. Bye.)

Harold hung up the phone. "Sorry," he said to the others.

"Does your whole family speak French?" piped Stiles.

"We live in France," said Harold. "What do you think?"

"That you guys speak French," replied Stiles. "So, I guess they don't know that you're hanging-out with us tonight?"

Harold growled to himself. "I wish I never dropped Scott off at that play date."

"I heard that!" said Stiles, but Harold ignored him.

"The kid's right," said Harold with bitter. "Too many location. Too many chances for failure. We will need to split up, but it will be dangerous for one to go in alone. Too many risks."

They stood in silence, brooding over how to find the exact location of Scott. Then, Peter smiled smugly. "I actually might have a plan that'll work."

Harold, Derek, and Stiles looked up at Peter. "I've never really been fond of your plans, seeing as they usually lead to death and destruction" said Stiles. "So, does anyone else have a suggestion?"

"Shut up Stiles," barked Harold. "What's the plan, Peter?"

"Gerald Argent stays at his son's house," said Peter, which Stiles and Derek agreed. "That means he could possibly leave some sort of evidence where he might have gone to. Like a gas receipt? A parking pass? Or, maybe even one of his family members knows?"

Stiles' jerked a bit, causing Derek to arch his eyebrows at him. "What?" asked Stiles, trying to his hide his anxiety.

"So, my plan is to have Stiles here," Peter indicated to Stiles, who perked up, "to go into the Argent's home to look for any evidence where Gerald Argent went."

Harold contemplated, but didn't seem enthralled at the idea. "What if there isn't anything there?"

"Then we'll split up."

"But there still the problem if the other Argents are in on it," said Derek. "Would they even tell Stiles?"

"Right here," said Stiles, waving his hand. "And, why not? I can charm my way into getting information."

"Uh-huh, because you're a real charmer," chastised Derek. Then, he voiced his concerns. "If they are in on it, they might have Gerald just kill Scott off."

"Not unless they think he has information they need."

"Like what?" Derek asked.

"Like about us," answered Harold soberly, his eyes darkening at the revelation. "They kidnapped him to learn more about the Originals."

"Maybe even to find out your hiding spot," suggested Peter. "To find and kill your family, including Scott."

Harold's face turned serious and hard as white-hot anger nipped his heart. "Well, not if I can help it," he growled and he snapped his attention to the teenager. "Stiles?"

Stiles looked wary at Harold. "Yeah?"

"You're going to visit your friend Allison tonight."


	31. Chapter 31: Ascertain

**Chapter 31: Ascertain **

Allison's night was restless. Visions of a blood thirsty Scott looming over mutilated corpses, haunted her mind. She awoke at the sound of her alarm, gasping for air and sweat dripping from her face.

Hitting the alarm, she remained sitting upright in her bed. She couldn't stop thinking about what he told her. About him being an Original. The fact they are in town. And the possibility of their involvement with Stiles' accident and Jackson's death.

Her clock ticked off another minute. It's 5:36 in the morning. With shaking limbs and breath, Allison rolled off her bed. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and changed into running shorts. Grabbing a light jacket, she checked one more time in the mirror. Creases rested underneath her sleep-deprived eyes and she reconsidered going on her morning run.

Mulling over the decision, she heard a strange noise resonate the walls of her bedroom.

_Tap. Tap. Tap _

Jumping in fright, Allison snapped her attention to the window, her heart in her throat.

"Scott?" she whispered, stepping cautiously to the window. "Scott?"

She pulled her curtains back and squeaked when a person was crouched by the window. Seconds passed before she relaxed upon recognizing Stiles' face.

Allison opened the window. "Stiles! What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

Stiles climbed into Allison's bedroom. "Yeah, the hospital isn't really my thing," he said. "I'm here for another reason."

Allison closed her window and turned to face Stiles. "If you're looking for Scott, he's not here," she said.

"I know," informed Stiles. "It's why I'm here." Stiles checked the door, pressing his ear against the wood. He waited for a brief moment, before locking the door. "No one's listening," added Stiles. "Okay—Scott's missing."

Allison's mouth dropped. "Missing?"

"We believe your grandfather took him," rambled Stiles. "Do you know where he is?"

Allison stared quizzically at him. "What?" she asked. "Why would you think that? Who's _we_?"

"Does that matter?" said Stiles. "Scott's missing and your grandfather is our only chance to finding him."

Her grandfather? But, she didn't tell him about Scott. She only mentioned that the Originals were in town. How could he know that Scott's an Original? Besides, he wouldn't kill Scott. He's innocent. He's never killed anybody.

Allison's eyebrows knitted together. "Stiles are you sure?"

"I'm 99.99% sure."

"It's impossible," said Allison. "He's been here! He hasn't left."

"Are you sure?" mimicked Stiles.

Allison went to speak, but couldn't. She wasn't sure. Her grandfather's a fierce hunter. His own desire to seek vengeance on those who killed his beloved daughter drove him to seek blood. Allison's mind throbbed. Would he betray the code?

And, deep down, she felt the truth.

Allison walked passed Stiles, motioning him to be silent. Stiles zipped his lips with his fingers and gingerly followed Allison out of her room to the guest bedroom. Tip-toeing to the door, Allison carefully turned the door's knob and pressed her hand to the door. The door opened without a squeak.

Deep breath, Allison peaked inside and then opened the door wide enough for Stiles to see. It was empty.

"Unless he's wearing an Invisibility Cloak," spoke Stiles. "I think he's gone."

Allison strode in the guest room, frantically looking around the room. "I-I can't believe it. He's…he would…I didn't tell him! I didn't say anything about Scott being an Original."

"Wait! What?" interrupted Stiles, his eyes wild. "You know?"

Allison paced. "He told me the other day. But, how does my grandfather know? I didn't tell him. I just mentioned the Originals were in town. Why would he take Scott?"

"Because maybe he _believes_ Scott knows where there are," replied Stiles. "Why did you tell him in the first place?"

"Because I was afraid!"

"Of Scott?"

"Of losing another person I care about," corrected Allison.

She turned away from Stiles and began rummaging through her grandfather's possessions. She pulled the dressers opened and shuffled through shirts and socks. "Start searching Stiles," she said, "and do it quietly. Can't wake my Dad up."

Stiles wobbled into the room and shifted through the nightstands, shaking books to see if anything would fall out. Allison finished the drawers and moved to the small table stand. Labeled folders rested nicely on top of each, until Allison searched through them, only to find it to be bank statements and insurance information.

"Came up with nothing," said Stiles. "You?"

"Nothing."

Pondering, Allison tried to think back. Maybe the information would be in the office? But, would he risk it? Her father used the office too and he wouldn't be involved.

Allison's heart tightened. "Stiles, I'm going to check the office. Keep looking in here."

Down the stairs and into small office, Allison headed straight to the desk. Sitting down in the seat, she began rummaging through the letters, receipts, and information on usage of wolfsbane and Mountain Ash, and miscellaneous werewolf agenda. Yet, nothing hinted to the possibility of locating Scott.

She took another run-through the office before trudging back up to Stiles where he was checking underneath the bed.

"Nothing downstairs," uttered Allison as Stiles popped his head up.

"Nothing under the bed either," affirmed Stiles.

Allison collapsed on the bed, her mind reeling and her heart coiling. "I-I don't know Stiles," she said. "I don't know where he would've taken Scott."

Stiles faced her, taking a hold of her hands. "Come on Allison. This is Scott's life! Think!"

"I CAN'T!" cried Allison and she collapsed on the bed.

Stiles swung around to the door, half-expecting Mr. Argent to come in, gun wielding. He hurried over to the door and closed it as Allison dropped her face into her hands.

"It's my fault," she murmured. "I did this."

Stiles raised Allison's head up so that he could see her wet eyes. "Allison, I know you! You can do a lot of things. You're smart! Talented with a crossbow."

"Shut up Stiles."

"Allison…"

"No! Shut up," said Allison, listening carefully. "Do you hear that?"

Stiles listened. "No."

Allison got up from the bed and sat back down. He heard it. They both heard it. A small hollow, creaking sound from the bed. Allison got up.

"Stiles, help me move the mattress."

Together, the removed the mattress and revealed a flat board on the bed's frames. Stiles lifted the boards and they saw a black notebook. Allison pulled the notebook out of the hiding spot and began to flip through it.

Pictures of tortured werewolves were stuffed in between pages. Writings of detailed spots, injuries, and weapons against werewolves were on every page. Allison flipped from one page to another in horror at the torturous nature of her grandfather. Was he doing those horrible techniques on Scott? At this moment?

Stiles peaked over her shoulder and repulsed at the sight. "Your grandfather slept with that thing?"

Allison flipped to another page and they both gasped. Stiles peered at the page. "Is that—?"

"Yes," said Allison. "That's Scott's family tree."

"So…he knew," muttered Stiles. "He knew this entire time."

"It's his plan," said Allison. "He came here…not to say goodbye to Kate, but to lure the Originals here and kill them."

"Starting with Scott."

Allison frantically turned the pages of the notebook until the end where receipts rested. She picked one up and read the location out loud. Stiles grabbed another receipt. All listed at the same location.

"I know where he is," said Stiles. "Allison, thank you!"

Stiles got out of the guest bedroom and headed back to Allison's room. Allison followed him.

"I'm coming with you," she said, but Stiles stopped her.

"No! You have to stay here."

"I'm not staying here! Not when my grandfather is going to kill Scott."

"You gotta stay," said Stiles

"I thought you said I was tough?"

"You are," insisted Stiles, "but, you need to stay and somehow convince your grandfather to come home."

"Convince him to come home?" repeated Allison. "Why?"

"To lure him away so that we can rescue Scott."

"Like what?"

"You're smart," said Stiles. "Think of something. I have to go!"

Stiles climbed through the window and winced as he held his knee a bit. Allison ran to the window. "Stiles!"

Stiles paused as he leaned near the edge of the roof. "What?"

"Tell Scott…tell him I'm sorry."

Stiles nodded, understandably. "I'll call you afterwards."

Allison thanked him and returned back to her grandfather's bedroom to replace the notebook and fix his bedroom. She flipped through the notebook again, stopping on the page where her grandfather scrawled Scott's name. She read up through his family tree, surprised by the vast relations Scott had when she noticed an odd symbol above the family name. Studying the symbol, a thought came to her mind.

Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed and waited.

"Hello? Allison?"

"Hi grandpa," said Allison. "Where are you?"

"I'm out at the…er…grocery store. Needed more coffee," said grandpa Argent. "What are you doing up?"

"I was getting ready to go on a morning jog, but I think you should get home."

"Why?"

"Someone marked up our door," said Allison. "It…it looks like a weird Nazi symbol or something."

"Did you wake your father?"

"I went straight to you, but you weren't in your bedroom," replied Allison. "Grandpa, should I wake him?"

"Wake him up," urged her grandfather. "I'll be on my way home."

The other end clicked off and Allison closed hers. Putting the notebook back into its original spot, she quickly put everything back in its proper order. Then, she returned to her room and pulled out her switchblade.

"For Scott," she said as she ran downstairs.

_**BREAK**_

Stiles leaned over the edge of the roof and looked down to see Derek waiting by the brush.

"A little help?"

Derek pointed to the drainpipe. "Climb down from there."

Stiles mumbled and slowly made his way back to earth. "I know where he is," said Stiles. "But, Gerard is there."

"Where is he?"

"He's in Westwood," said Stiles, holding up the clutched receipt. "Peter marked it."

"Is Allison going to get Gerard away?" questioned Derek.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah…she's thinking of a plan right now."

Derek and Stiles headed back to the car where they found Peter and Harold. They both grew alert when they saw the two approached. Harold immediately hounded on Stiles.

"Did you get anything?"

"He's in Westwood," announced Stiles.

"Westwood?" repeated Peter, then turning to Harold. "They're keeping him at the old Red River Lumber factory. That's the closest solitude place near there."

The sun peaked over the fur trees, blazing Harold's and Peter's hair gold despite their dark colors. The sun was trying to rise above the trees and wake everyone to a solemn morning. Yet, only the four of them were outside, standing by Derek's car.

Derek pulled his keys out. "It's only a twenty minute drive."

"It is not!" cried Stiles. "It's more like forty-five to an hour."

"Not when I'm driving," rumbled Derek. "Let's go."

"I'll stay," said Peter, which caused everyone to stop and look at him.

"What?" asked Derek.

"What he said," said Stiles, pointing to Derek, whose eyes flickered in annoyance.

"Look," said Peter, calmly. "Someone needs to stay here and keep a look out. I've already been spying on the Argents for some time. I know their movements. If Gerard comes and leaves, I'll call and warn you."

"He's right," said Harold after a good moment. "Peter stays here. The two of us will go, Derek."

"And me," added Stiles.

"You'll go back to the hospital," growled Harold. "You're done helping."

Stiles was about to retort when he flailed forward, opened the car door, and jumped in the back. He buckled his seatbelt and stared defiantly at Harold.

"Since you've left," said Stiles. "Scott and I always have each others' back. We are always there for each other, facing the supernatural together. Like it or not, I'm coming."

"Jesus Christ," muttered Harold as he looked to Derek. "Should have thrown him in the trunk."

"Next time," agreed Derek.

The two werewolves got into the car. Peter wished Harold the best of luck and stalked away between the houses to what the others assumed to be his lookout post. Derek hit the accelerator and spun out of the quiet neighborhood to Westwood.

_**BREAK**_

Allison finished the carving on the door. She blew away the remaining splinters and brushed them off the porch to make it appear a werewolf scratched the symbol into the door.

She took a step back, admiring her carving work. The thin, long Z took up most of the door as the short line across it went over the door's indents. It looked identical to the one in her grandfather's notebook. Checking her watch for the time, she hurried back inside to hide the switchblade before her grandfather came home. Then, she also had to wake her father to show him the newly carved symbol.

She closed the door as Peter stepped from the shadows, smiling.

_**BREAK**_

Gerard hung up the phone.

The Originals had visited the house. They have left their mark on the door. A signal for war.

Gerard walked down the old corridors of the Red River Lumber Company until he got to the door he needed to go through. He opened it and saw Scott McCall hunched over, blood still oozing from the stab wound.

Hearing the door opened, Scott barely lifted his head. Gerard saw the pain behind those eyes. And, he smiled. The werewolf cub was going to surrender. With the information, he can return to his family with the news of forever ending the werewolves' reign of terror.

"Time's up, Scott," said Gerard. "I've asked nicely. I've given you a taste of pain."

Scott grimaced.

"Now, one last time," said Gerard, brandishing the knife. "Where are the Originals?"

Scott's chest rose and fell in a quick rhythm. His injured leg twitched, spraying a droplet further away. It was pathetic in Gerard opinion. He felt no remorse for the battered animal in front of him. It was a creature of evil and needed to put to death.

But, first, he needed information. Gerard repeated. "Where are they?"

Scott took a big breath. "I don't know."

Gerard closed his eyes and fumed. "Okay. I believe you," he said.

He walked over to Scott and acted like he was going to remove the chains from Scott. He watched the brown eyes light up, which made Gerard grinned.

"I guess there's no need to keep you alive any longer."

In one quick motion, he plunged the dagger into Scott's chest, right underneath the rib cage. Scott howled in agony and then choked. Gerard twisted the dagger and then pulled it out.

Scott heaved over, trying to gasp for air and restrain the pain. Gerard moved to the door, tossing the dagger onto the brown bag, when he heard a faint whisper.

"Why?"

Gerard turned around and stared at the dying animal. "Because in war, you die like a dog for no good reason."

Then, Gerard exited and headed back home to prepare for the upcoming war.


	32. Chapter 32: Attenuate

**Chapter 32: Attenuate**

The car halted and parked outside the old lumber company. The main building was several stories high, the sun glazing the crumbling brick building. Overgrowth sprouted along the broken road leading to the lumberyard and buildings. Amongst the timbering trees were parked trucks, designed for hunting. They were at Gerard's secret location.

Stiles, Derek, and Harold were all out of the car, examining the situation. Harold turned to Derek.

"He's here," said Harold.

"How do you know?" questioned Derek. "I can't smell him."

"I'm an Original," reminded Harold and Derek begrudging acknowledge the answer. "The scent is barely there anyway."

"So, we'll have to go into the building and go up every floor until we find him," said Harold, as his claws grew out from his fingers. "Ready?"

"Hey! What about me?" said Stiles.

Derek and Harold glanced at each other. Then, Harold led Stiles to the car. "What I need you to do is stay in the car."

Stiles gasped. "Stay in the car? No! No, no, no, I'm coming in with you."

Harold sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

Without a second thought, Harold threw the trunk opened, lifted Stiles off his feet and shoved him. Stiles yelped and tried to fight back, but the Original's strength was no match. Once Stiles was scrunched in the trunk, Harold slammed it closed as Stiles pounded and yelled.

Harold walked away as Derek looked on with surprise. "Someone had to do it," muttered Harold. "Let's do this."

_**BREAK**_

Stiles moved about in the trunk. He kept banging on the top, calling out for Harold and Derek to open the trunk. They never did. Stiles' back curled as he tried to get comfortable, but a trunk was no place for a human. Plus, the smell of wet dog was choking his lungs. He remained in the pitch, thinking of a way to get out of this entrapment.

Then, a faint memory from the back of his mind came forward. It was years ago when his father gave him lessons on survival. Since becoming sheriff and the death of his wife, his father grew somewhat paranoid of losing his son. So, Stiles learned valuable lessons from his father and one of them was how to get out of the trunk.

With his foot, Stiles felt for the backlight fixture. He found it and without guilt, knocked it out of its place. Morning air filled the trunk and Stiles drunk it in with greed, happy to rid the dog smell from his lungs. With light inside, Stiles noticed a handle above the end of the trunk. It was a release lift.

"Oops," he said, remembering that newer cars have safety lifts.

Stiles grabbed the handle and yanked. The trunk's hood popped opened and he jumped out, tripping onto the ground.

"Oh…thank God," Stiles muttered at the sight of weeds and gravel.

Slowly, he got back onto his feet and wobbled for a bit to the building. He couldn't hear any commotion. They must not have run into the werewolves yet. As he made his way to the front building, Stiles heard the creaking sound of a door opening.

Kicking rocks up as he hurried to building, throwing his back against the brick. Grunting a little, he breathed carefully and peeked around the corner to see a man, armed with a gun, smoking a cigarette.

The door was propped opened with a sole brick and the hunter smoked away, unaware of the dangers inside. Stiles realized this was his chance to move. Calculating, Stiles saw a rusted rod tucked in the edges of the buildings layout.

As the hunter turned away, his back facing Stiles, the teenagers crept low and picked the rod up. It was rather heavy, but Stiles held a firm grip, despite the copper marks painted on his palms by the rust.

Stiles was a few feet away from the hunter when he stepped on a twig. The cracking noise broke the morning's silence. The hunter snapped around, gun rose to fire. Stiles had no choice. He swung the rod and hit the hunter's arm. The gun flew into the air, landing elsewhere. Stiles swung again. The hunter crumbled to the ground and remained motionless.

Stiles arms shook. He has never harmed a human before. The rod slipped from Stiles' fingers, cluttering next to the hunter's body. Breathing rapidly and his nerves overworking, Stiles bent down and placed his fingers on the hunter's neck. After a few moments, Stiles sighed in relief. The hunter was alive, but unconscious.

A howl broke through his thoughts. Stiles jerked to his feet and ran to the opened door. He pushed the brick aside as he entered the building, closing it to the outside world. Secured inside, Stiles ran down the hallways, calling for Scott.

He could hear commotions on the other side of the building. Harold and Derek were wrecking havoc. Stiles climbed to the next level and was surprised that he had encountered no one. They were probably too busy dealing with Harold and Derek to think of a possible third person roaming the hallways.

Stiles checked every room, yelling Scott's name as he hurried down the hallways. There was no response and Stiles' mind pestered him with images of Scott's dead body.

"No…Scott's not dead. He's not dead," muttered to Stiles as he went onto the next floor.

The next floor, the lights were dimmed, leaving speckled light pattern for Stiles to follow. He kept glancing over his shoulder to check if anyone was behind him. He marched forward, trying to open doors, but they were locked.

"Scott!" said Stiles to each locked door. "Scott are you in there?"

No response and Stiles made his way down the hallway. With each passing door, his heart sunk lower into the pit. Hope diminishing as fear ate it away. He kept in pursuit, pulling at each doorknob.

"SCOTT!"

"Stiles?"

Stiles stopped. His held in his breath. His name was soft, like a faint whisper. His heart beat energetically as he called out again. "SCOTT!"

He heard it again. The faint whisper. "Stiles…"

"Scott!" cried Stiles, trying to follow the noise. "Scott, I'm here! I'm coming."

Stiles pressed his ear to each door, trying to locate the source of the noise. He kept yelling out Scott's name, but each response was sounding weaker. Stiles nearly ran from door to door until finally he found it.

"Scott!"

"Stiles…it's locked."

Tears sprung in Stiles' eyes while he smiled at hearing his friend's voice on the other side.

"Don't worry. I'll get you out. Hold on!"

Stiles backed away from the door. He's seen it in movies all the time, but never tried it. Gearing up, Stiles eyed the door with malicious intent and charged forward. He rammed his shoulder into the door. He bounced back, the door barely budging. Stiles gasped and clutched his shoulder. The actors lied. It wasn't easy.

But, he didn't give in. "Hold on," said Stiles as he backed away from the door once more.

He threw his weight against the door, but his shoulder pained him. He then lifted his leg and kicked at the door. The door creaked and Stiles repeatedly kicked the door near the handle. After the fifth kick, the door finally surrendered. It burst opened, revealing a chained Scott on the other side.

"Scott!" cried Stiles as he limped over to his best friend. "Thank God you're alive…what the hell?"

As he got closer to Scott he noticed the fatigue facial expression etched into Scott's face. The sweat shined his face and wetted the tips of his hair. He looked ill, almost like death. Scott grimaced and his head tilted downwards. Stiles followed his gaze and saw two bloody wounds in his chest and leg.

"Oh God…" said Stiles, "What happened? Why aren't you healing?"

Scott was about to reply, but Stiles cut him off. "Forget it," he said. "How the hell do I get these chains off you?"

Scott muttered. "Keys."

"I don't have any keys," said Stiles. "There has to be…"

Stiles looked around and saw the brown bag. He scurried over and started digging through, throwing the knife aside. Much to his surprise and gratitude, there was a hammer inside.

Crawling back, Stiles raised the hammer and tried to chip away the chains. But, it wasn't working. The chains were too strong for the hammer.

"They're not coming off!" said Stiles, frustratingly. He went to the bag again to find something else.

"Stiles…"

"Hold on Scott!" replied Stiles. "I'm looking."

"No…Stiles, someone is…"

"_What the hell_?"

Stiles glanced up to see a hunter in the doorway, his eyes wide at the scene before him. Stiles hurriedly grabbed the long rod from the bag to protect himself. The hunter marched into the room and pulled out his gun from his holster. Stiles thrust the rod at him and, in horror, watched the hunter flinched and seizure while standing. Stiles pulled the rod back and the hunter crumbled to the floor.

"What the hell is this?" said Stiles, examining the rod. He noticed the design. "A cattle prod? Who owns this bag?"

"Stiles..."

Stiles turned to look at Scott. His friend was nudging at the fallen hunter. Stiles looked back to the hunter to see keys tucked in his belt. He slid over to the hunter and unclipped the keys.

"Let's hope one of these are it," said Stiles and he returned to Scott.

The first key didn't fit. The second key wouldn't turn. The third key was too big. Stiles grew more frustrated at every key he tried as Scott breaths became more shallow.

"Hang in there," said Stiles as he tried the fifth key.

The key fit and Stiles twisted it. The key turned all the way and a clicking sound brought joy to their ears. The chains slid off Scott's wrists to the floor. Scott gave a weak smile to Stiles.

"Told you," said Stiles, smiling back. "Can you stand?"

With his arms free, Scott tried to stand on his legs, but the wound caused him to fall back down. Scott clutched his wound and more blood dripped down his leg.

Stiles picked Scott up and wrapped Scott's arm around his neck. "Just lean on me, okay?" said Stiles. "I'll get you out of here."

As they limped to the door, Stiles picked up the cattle prod. Scott stared at him. "For protection."

Scott's head rolled to Stiles' shoulder. "How did you find me?"

"Allison," answered Stiles. "Now save your breath."

The hallway seemed longer than Stiles remembered, but he and Scott trudged down it as he held the cattle prod tight in his hand. He was ready for anyone to come around the corner.

Unfortunately, there were no elevators and Stiles had trouble getting Scott down the stairs without causing more injury to his leg. Scott kept falling over, doubling in pain. Stiles tried his best to make it easier for his friend, but the wounds were only worsening at every move Scott made.

After a hard struggle, they made it to the last level. Scott clung onto Stiles' shoulders. Stiles could feel him slipping. Stiles pushed the door opened. They maneuvered through the doorway and right into another hunter.

Stiles whipped out the cattle prod and charged it onto the hunter. They hunter yelped at the shock and was thrown back against the wall. Stiles stared at the prod in wild amazement.

"Did you see what I just did?" he said to Scott. "Wow…okay, sorry, come on. This way."

Stiles led him through the hallway. They turned a corner to see two hunters walking in their direction. The hunters spotted them and bolted into a run. Stiles and Scott backed out of the hallway.

Stiles led Scott to the wall and lowered him to the floor. "I'll be right back," he said and he held out the prod like a sword.

With a deep breath, Stiles charged around the corner and roared his battle cry. "ARGH!"

Stiles stopped.

The hunters were not firing at him. Instead, they were sprawled on the ground. Their blood splattered the once bared walls along with indents as if someone rammed a body against the wall. In the middle, stood Derek Hale.

Stiles was relieved. "I'll never ever say this again, but thank God it's you!"

Derek stared, puzzled, at Stiles. "How did you get in here? And where did you get a cattle prod?"

"Another story," said Stiles as he lowered the prod. "I have Scott."

Derek followed Stiles around the corner where the Scott laid like a broken puppet. Derek swooped down next to Scott, lifting the young werewolf chin up to examine him. He pressed his hand against Scott's forehead and checked his wounds.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Stiles. "Will he heal?"

Derek checked his chest wound again. "He's been poisoned," he said, and then looked to Scott's face. "Scott! Can you hear me?"

Though his eyes were unfocused, Scott nodded.

"It's Derek," he said. "I need you to listen carefully. Whatever you do, don't close your eyes. Okay? Keep them opened. Count to one hundred if you need to."

"My chest," murmured Scott. "I-It burns…"

"I know. I know," said Derek. "But, you gotta stay awake."

Derek turned to Stiles. "We have to get Scott to Deaton," he said. "Keep the cattle prod ready."

Stiles nodded and raised the prod again.

"Scott, can you walk?"

"Not really," answered Stiles. "His leg…"

"Okay," said Derek and he scooped Scott in his arms, cradling him.

"Oh I see," said Stiles. "When Scott can't walk you carry him. But me—"

"Shut up and move!"

Stiles and Derek, carrying Scott, ran down the hallways. They followed the exit signs where bodies of former hunters lied in bloody shreds. They hopped over them, Stiles trying not to puke his guts. Finally, they arrived at an exit door, ready to plow through and go to the car when the sound of a gun's cracking behind stopped them.

"Turn around."

Derek and Stiles turned to face a lone hunter, his gun aimed at Derek's head. The hunter's ragged appearance looked similar to a wild, vengeful soldier from war. The hunter's eyes glanced to Stiles. "Drop the weapon."

With no choice, Stiles tossed the weapon aside and raised his hands innocently in the air. "Please, let us go…"

"Shut up!" ordered the hunter.

Stiles went quiet. Derek adjusted Scott in his arms, as Scott's eyes kept drooping.

The hunter stepped closer to the trio, his hand steady. "Now, back away from the door."

They both complied with the order and moved away from the door. Stiles pleaded with the hunter. "Please! My friend is severely injured."

"Shut up," barked the hunter. "I don't give a fuck about your friend."

Stiles glared at the hunter while Derek went to lay Scott down on the floor. The hunter jerked the gun to him.

"No. You hold him," demanded the hunter. Derek lifted Scott back up. "I know what you are _Hale_. No, I want you to hold McCall so you can't do any furry business."

Scott wheezed and coughed. Derek glanced down at him. "Hang in…"

"Stop talking!" roared the hunter. Derek fixed his anger at hunter. "You…You killed my friends!"

Derek didn't rebuff the statement.

"You're kind is done," said the hunter. "You're not going to hurt anymore people." The hunter cocked his gun again. "Goodbye werewolf."

As the hunter took aim, his neck lurched forward. Derek scooted back and Stiles flinched. They stared at the hunter, expecting a bullet to whizz through the air and collide against Derek's skull. But, it never came.

The hunter's free hand reached to his neck. His pupils grew and he spluttered nonsense from his mouth before dropping like a broken marionette. On the back of his neck revealed four deep scratch marks.

"Goodbye human," mumbled Harold.

He stepped over the paralyzed hunter, wiping his bloody claws on his coat. His immediately fell onto Scott.

Harold went straight to Derek. "Give him to me."

Derek passed Scott to his father in seconds. Harold brushed a few strands of Scott's hair from his forehead. "He's hot," he said and his face hardened at the sight of the two wounds. "That bastard."

"We don't have much time," said Derek. "We gotta go."

Derek led the way through the exit door and to the car as the sun's warmth heated their skins. Scott groaned and arched his back, but Harold held him close. Stiles went to sit in the back, but Harold pushed him up front.

"We're taking the back," he hissed and Harold eased Scott into the vehicle as Stiles took front seat.

Derek run the engine and once secured inside, he hit the accelerator. He passed Stiles his cell phone.

"Call Deaton," ordered Derek. "Tell him we have an emergency. Scott's been poisoned."

Stiles fidgety dialed and talked to Deaton. He hung up. "Deaton said he'll be ready," replied Stiles and he turned back in his seat to see father and son.

Harold had Scott lying across the back seats, Scott's head on his lap. Scott kept groaning and tears spilled from his pained eyes. Blood trickled down from his wounds to the seat cushions. His chest rose and fell in rapid sessions as he gasped for air. Harold held him close, distressed.

"Easy...we're on our way home," murmured Harold, calmly. "Hang in there."

Scott whimpered. "It b-burns…I-I can't…It hurts"

"I know it hurts," said Harold. "But, Deaton is going to heal you. You're going to be okay."

Scott shook his head.

Tears filled Stiles eyes and his lips trembled. His own throat tightened as he watched his best friend fight for life. "Don't worry Scott. You're not dying today," he choked and he turned to Derek. "Can't this car go any faster?"

"I'm driving as fast as I can on these hills," snapped Derek as the car flew over the hilly roads.

Stiles turned back to Scott and started to remove his shirt. "Here give this to Scott," said Stiles.

"No. We can't cover up the wounds," said Harold. "It will only keep the poison inside. No, we have let the body bleed the poison out. "

Stiles put his shirt back, while Harold checked Scott's wounds. The car flew over another hill and landed back on the road with a thud. Scott twisted and whimpered at the impact. Harold cradled his son. "It's okay, Scotty. It's okay. I got you. "

Scott's cracked voice spoke. "I-I feel…fading…"

His eyes fluttered for moment and then closed. Harold shook his son. "No…no, no, no, no," he said. "Scott! Come on. Stay with me."

They opened again, but were unfocused. They drooped again as Harold tried to keep Scott awake. "No, no, no, no, no," begged Harold.

Stiles cried at Derek to go faster. Scott's chest barely rose up and unsteadily fell. Stiles reached for Scott's hand, searching for a pulse along his wrist. He couldn't find one.

"Scott!" sobbed Stiles. "Scott!"

Instantly, Harold rolled up his sleeve and bit into his wrist. Blood slid out from the gash, sliding down his arm. Harold rolled Scott's shirt up, revealing the ugly wound. Stiles paled, but he didn't glance away. He watched as Harold held his injured wrist above the wound. Then, he pressed hard on his own injury and dozens of blood droplets fell onto Scott's wound.

"Come on Scott," urged Harold, as he dumped more of his blood onto Scott's wound. "Come on!"

Stiles was mortified. "What are you doing?!"

"Adding my blood to try and get his body to heal faster," said Harold.

Harold bit into his other wrist and held both bleeding wrists over Scott's wound. Blood spattered all over the wound and the surrounding bruised skin. Stiles watched in horror.

Harold pressed more blood into his son's wound. "Stiles, do you feel a pulse?"

Stiles felt around Scott's wrist and gravely shook his head.

Harold ripped more of his injury back, allowing more of his blood to leak out onto Scott. "How much further?"

"Ten minutes out from Deaton's," called Derek.

"Come on Scott. Come on! Keep fighting," urged Harold as he kept pumping his blood into Scott's wound.

Scott rocked with car. His eyes remained closed and his chest struggled to rise. He was wasting away, fading into oblivion. Fading into a place the rest could not follow.

Scott surrendered.


	33. Chapter 33: Afterlife

**Chapter 33: Afterlife**

Scott heard voices around him. He searched, but the darkness limited his ability to find the source. Who is talking? What were they talking about? Scott tried to feel his way around him. It was cold. Very cold, like he was lying on a slab of ice.

The voices grew louder. He heard someone call his name. Scott tried to move again, but he felt too heavy. Almost like he was tied down. Weakness filled him and he wondered if this was what death was like when a sharp noise screamed in his ear.

Scott's eyes flipped open and light burned his pupils. Trying to screen the harmful light, he looked away and saw his father standing next to him.

"Scott?" he said, softly. "Scott? Can you hear me?"

Scott blinked several times before he was able to focus where he was. He saw not only his father, but Deaton as well. They were both leaning over him with concern and Deaton even put his hand on Scott's forehead.

"Temperature is going down," said Deaton to Harold before glancing back to Scott. "How are you feeling?"

"Weak," grumbled Scott. "Am I at the office?"

Deaton nodded. "You had quite a morning. Do you remember anything?"

Scott tried to think. His mind was still numbed and muddled, but he remembered the smell of mold, wood, and sweat. Tingling sensations along his leg and chest reminded him of the stab wounds that Gerard inflicted.

"Gerard," said Scott. "He…stabbed me."

Deaton nodded, gravely. "We know. Your wounds are healing though."

Scott tried to lift his body to see his wounds, but both Harold and Deaton pushed him back down.

"Easy Scott," said Harold. "You need to rest. You've been through a lot today."

Scott let the two push him back down on the metal gurney. "What about Stiles? Is he…and Derek?"

"They're out in the waiting room," assured Deaton. "They're okay."

Scott relaxed. They were safe. Fidgeting to get comfortable, he flickered his gaze up to his father. "Gerard…he knows. He wants to—"

Harold nodded. "I know," he said. "But I'll deal with him later."

Scott didn't know what his father meant by _deal_, but if he knew anything from his past experiences with the Originals, it probably meant death.

"You're going to kill him," breathed Scott.

"Let's not worry about Gerard right now," said Harold and he looked up to Deaton. "Do you have anything to help the healing process faster?"

Deaton moved to the counter and returned with a bottle of pills. "All right, Scott," he said. "I need you to swallow this."

Scott stared at the white pill. "What is it?"

"It's to help you get your strength back," said Deaton. "Don't worry. You'll be groggily for just a bit."

Scott accepted the medicine and swallowed. It tasted bland and he wanted to spit it out, but Harold shoved water down his throat. Minutes lapsed before the medicine took its effects and Scott dozed off.

"There," said Deaton as he retrieved a blanket from the back and threw it over Scott's body. "By the time he wakes up, he should be good."

Harold nodded, but his eyes didn't move from his son's face. He reached out of Scott's hand and held onto it. He inhaled deeply as he watched his son's chest rise and fall.

Deaton strode over to Harold. "Are you okay?"

Harold shook his head. "I almost lost him."

"But you didn't," reminded Deaton. "You saved him Harold. That was quick thinking on your part."

"I didn't even know if it was going to work," admitted Harold. "I had to try something. He was dying."

"Which makes you the man I once remember."

Harold scoffed at the comment. "You make me out as evil before."

"Well, you weren't exactly the nice gentlemen as before," said Deaton. "You did abandon your family."

"I had no choice," said Harold. "I had to go back. If I didn't, they would have sent others and then my father would know."

"That your son was human?"

"That _I_ was pretending to be human," corrected Harold. "Leaving them…it's not something I'm proud of, Deaton."

"I would hope not."

Harold brushed Scott's hair off to the side. "He really needs a hair cut," he muttered.

Deaton watched briefly as Harold simply watched his son sleep like new parent watching their newborn. He tucked the blanket and constantly checked his temperature to make sure it was going down to normal.

"What are your plans?" asked Deaton.

Harold glanced away from Scott. "Plans?"

"You heard Scott," said Deaton. "Gerard has something up his sleeve."

"I'm aware of his plans," informed Harold. "Stiles told me."

"Then what are his plans?" questioned Deaton.

"He plans on eliminating the Originals. That's why he kidnapped Scott. Thought he would know our location."

"And Scott didn't?"

Harold shook his head. "Melissa doesn't want Scott mixed up with my family. Wants him to be as normal as possible," he said. "So, no, Scott doesn't know anything about the family and my family doesn't know anything about him."

Harold let out an unsteady breath, his hand shaking slightly. "I'm trying to protect my family, Deaton. In the best way I can."

Deaton understood. "Well, I'll leave you alone. I'll tell the others."

"Deaton?"

Deaton stopped.

Harold's face was wrinkled in fatigue. Eyes glossy and strained from the emotional ride he had to withstand the past two hours. His skin was paler than usual, but there was a sense of relief in his appearance. A sense of sincerity and gratitude.

"Thank you," said Harold.

Deaton bowed his head and exited the room to leave the father-son alone. Harold still held onto Scott's hand, afraid to let go. He knew how close Scott came to death this morning. And, he also knew how close he was at becoming the monster that little children fear.

But at this moment, all was well. Scott was recovering and Harold stood by his side, guarding over his only son.

Harold gazed at his breathing son. He hadn't felt this much pain, happiness, relief, and worry ever. The feelings were unusual for him, as he never quite experienced such a mixture. He remembered the feeling of helplessness, fear, and regret swallowing his heart when Scott was slowly dying in his arms. His fear for Scott made him determined to never let his son suffer anymore. He would stop at nothing to protect his child from the horrors of being an Original, because…

Harold whispered, "I love you."

_**BREAK**_

Derek and Stiles waited in the front office. Only Harold went in the back with Scott and Deaton. They were behind the door for an hour until Deaton came out, wiping his hands with a towel. They both stood up, but Stiles ran to Deaton.

"Is he okay? Did he make it?"

Deaton nodded. "Yes. Scott's going to make a full recovery."

Stiles exhaled. "Oh thank God! We made it in time."

Stiles sunk into a nearby chair, smiling and breathing deeply. Derek wiped his face with his hands and looked back to the veterinarian.

"Thank you," Derek said. "Really."

"He was very lucky," said Deaton. "Harold's blood managed to pump enough of the poison out in order to revive him back."

"Can I go in?" asked Stiles, but Deaton shook his head.

"He's sleeping," said Deaton. "Also, I think his father wants alone time."

Stiles understood, but he still wished to see his friend alive. He would have to take Deaton's word that Scott would recover. Derek continued speaking to Deaton, but Stiles didn't hear them. He was too busy relaxing as his body had been in a tensed mode since leaving the hospital. He slouched back to try to regain his composure when he finally caught word of what the doctor and werewolf were talking.

"If they declare war," said Derek. "Then Beacon Hills will become a major battleground. It would blow our existence onto the front page of the New York Times!"

"Gerard isn't worried about exposure," said Deaton. "In fact, he probably thinks the exposure will help serve his purpose."

"Of eliminating our kind?"

"Which he considers to be unnatural," said Deaton, sighing. "His attempt on Scott's life is just the beginning. He figured the Originals would go out in full force if their last descendent was dead."

"To his disappointment, Scott's family is unaware of his existence," continued Deaton. "So, his hope for a full-on war won't happen."

"Unless Harold—"

"Harold won't mention the attack to his family," said Deaton.

"How do you know that for sure?" questioned Derek. "He's an _Original_. They take these things seriously."

"I know Harold," said Deaton. "He'll put Scott's safety ahead of the family affairs."

At that moment, the front door opened. Melissa McCall marched inside looking frazzled and still wearing her work clothes. Her eyes darted from one person to the next, frantically searching each face before landing on Deaton. She rushed up to Deaton, her knees wobbling.

"Where is he?" she asked, her voice trembling, but firm. "Where's Scott?"

Deaton spoke, soothingly. "He's in the back, but he's fine Melissa. He's going to pull through."

Deaton's words didn't comfort Melissa at all. Her checks flushed with anger and frustration. She was about to walk passed Deaton and Derek to the back when the door opened and Harold walked out.

Melissa stopped and the two former spouses stared at each other. Stiles, Derek, and Deaton watched from the sidelines. Stiles wondered if the three should leave to give the family alone time.

But, it didn't last very long. Melissa walked straight up to Harold and struck violently across Harold's face. The slap resonated in the office and both Stiles and Derek flinched at the cracking sound. Harold's face jerked to the side, revealing to everyone a bright red handprint on the side of his face.

"Mel…" spoke Harold, but Melissa interrupted him.

"No!" she roared. "I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear anything you have to say!"

Stiles and Derek backed away, her voice terrifying them. Her voice pitched to an unbelievable sound. And her demanding presence dominated that Stiles could even see fear in the Original's eyes.

"This is _your _fault," she stated. "You put Scott's life in danger!"

"Melissa, I didn't—"

"I'M NOT DONE TALKING!" snapped Melissa and Harold respected her wish. "I told you to stay away! That's all you had to do. Just stay away from us. Everything was fine until you showed up!"

"Now, you show up for a few days and I get a call from Deaton telling me Scott's been severely injured," ranted Melissa. "You got rattling off that you're not here to cause trouble, but now Jackson is dead and Scott nearly loses his."

Melissa inhaled and Stiles thought it was time to comfort her. Though, he couldn't believe he going to actually support Harold. "Miss McCall, Harold saved—"

Melissa snapped to Stiles. "_Shut it_ _Stiles_!" she bellowed. "And, aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

Stiles backed away, his hands raised like Melissa was an officer. "Actually, yeah, I-I was just…on my way back…er…"

Melissa eyes flashed, warningly.

"Er…Derek?" patted Stiles. "Would you give me a ride?"

Derek nodded. "Uh…yeah," he said, warily. "Let's go."

They exited out as Stiles called back to Melissa. "See you later…at the hospital. Right, hospital."

The door closed. Deaton, feeling the brewing tensions, informed the former spouses that he was going to check on Scott and exited the waiting room as well.

Once everyone was gone, Melissa turned back to Harold. "I want you out of our lives. Forever! I don't want you to come even a mile near us. I-I want you _gone_!"

Harold waited for Melissa to breathe. "May I speak?"

Melissa didn't say anything. She only glared.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," said Harold. "Melissa, I warned you. His status puts him in danger."

Melissa threw up her arms. "You never take responsibility! Ever!"

"It wasn't me that put Scott on the hunters' radar!" retorted Harold. "They already knew!"

"Hunters?" said Melissa. "What are you talking about? Hunters?"

"I was trying to tell you the other night," explained Harold. "Hunters are humans who kill werewolves. Some have codes and others don't. The Argent who attacked Scott do not have codes."

Melissa blinked. "Wait…Argent? Like Allison Argent."

Harold nodded. "She comes from a long ling of werewolf hunters. It was her grandfather that attacked Scott."

"Why would he—"

Harold stared. "Because they know he's an Original."

Melissa suddenly became rigid, her head shaking as she tried to control the volcano erupting inside her. "They know because of _you_," she gritted. "That's why they came after my son. Because they were after you."

"Melissa…"

Melissa shook her head as tears streamed down her voice. "Don't you ever come near Scott again," she said. "Please! If you do care about us, you'll leave us alone."

Harold looked pained, but he nodded. "All right," he said. "If that's what you want."

"It's what I want," insisted Melissa, "It's what we both want."

Harold almost reached out to touch Melissa's shoulder, but stopped short. Instead, he bowed out and left. When the door chimed closed, Melissa sobbed. The tears rolled down her cheek in such profusion that it almost appeared she was a well.

She never wanted Scott to face these dangers. She had hoped he would've stayed human forever. But, her only hope had faded away when she received the call from Deaton. Scott's life was never going to be normal again.

_**BREAK**_

Harold returned home.

He stormed through the front doors, causing many of those in the hallway to jump back in surprise. When they noticed it was master Harold, they went over to welcome him home, but he snubbed them. He went straight on through them as each pair of eyes lingered on his exposed bandaged wrists.

Flynn tried to confront him. "Harold, sire, where've you been? Your father has been asking for you."

Harold ignored him and went straight to the liquor cabinet in the cellar. He scourged through the storage, pulling out a bottle of fine whiskey and a glass. He took a whiff of the liquor before pouring its dark liquid into his glass.

Flynn stood by, watching as his master drunk the first glass in seconds. "Sire? Are you all right?"

Harold nodded. "Yes, of course I am," he said. "Never been better."

He drank another glass. Footsteps could be heard approaching and Harvey rounded the corner, looking exasperated at his older brother.

"There you are!" he cried. "Where have you been all night and morning?"

"My fucking job," mumbled Harold.

Harvey crossed his arms. "You were supposed to give me an update," he said. "And, why are you drinking? It's eight in the morning."

Harold growled. "Just mind your own business."

Harvey turned to Flynn, who shrugged innocently. Harvey motioned him to leave and he obeyed. Harvey marched over to Harold and took away the whiskey and the glass.

"Give those back to me," ordered Harold.

"Not until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you," said Harvey. "Ever since we've been here, you've been acting strangely. You've been disappearing and reappearing sporadically. You show up with no real answer as to where you've been."

"I've been watching the McCall house. Satisfied?"

"I would be, but you're lying," accused Harvey. "I sent two of my men to check up on you. You weren't there."

Harold chortled. "Well, you caught me. Congratulations. Now, give my drink back."

Harold stretched his arm out to grab the drink, when Harvey spotted the bandages. "Why are your wrists bandaged up?"

Harold pulled his jacket further down. "It's nothing."

Harvey didn't believe it. He grabbed Harold and tried to pull his sleeves back, but Harold wrestled him away and threw him against the wall, pinning him.

Harvey coughed at the impact. "Jesus, Harry!"

Harold didn't breath. He glared at his brother. His body overheated as his claws grew out and his red eyes glowed brightly. Harvey tried to get out of his brother's grip, but Harold was much stronger than his younger brother.

Then, a hand landed on Harold's shoulder and pulled him off Harvey. The younger Original's feet fell back onto the tiled floor as Harold was thrown across the room. Harold grabbed the edged of the counter and prevented himself from falling.

"That's enough," barked the Original Alpha, staring at his eldest son, before looking at Harvey. "You okay?"

Harvey rubbed his neck, but nodded that he was okay. The Original Alpha turned to Harold.

"Harold! What's the matter with you? And where've you been?" questioned the Original Alpha. "Flynn came back hours ago. And, why do you have bandages on your wrists."

Harold inhaled and exhaled rapidly. He combed his hair with his fingers as he tried to regain his composure. "It's nothing."

The Original Alpha glanced down at the wrists again. "That doesn't look like nothing. Where have you been?"

"What does it matter what I was doing?" questioned Harold. "Why does anyone care?"

The Original Alpha's voice grew stern. "Because you show up early in the morning after being gone for hours with bandages on your wrists," pointed the Original Alpha, "Then, you attack your brother and you're drinking," The Original Alpha checked his watch, "at eight in the morning. Do I need any more evidence as to why I should be concerned?"

Harold rocked on his feet, swaying a bit as he leaned against the counter. "No," he managed to say. "But, I'm…I'm fine. Just…stressed. I'm okay."

"I think you're a bit more than just stressed, son," said the Original Alpha. "Ever since we've arrived in this town, you've been acting very differently."

Harold huffed. "Well, as good as your observations are, I'm fine. I just need people to get off my back for a minute."

The Original Alpha studied his son for a long moment. "Harry, if there's anything you want to tell us…"

Harold shook his head. "No, there's nothing. I just need…some peace. Please?"

The Original Alpha nodded his head and allowed Harold to leave. Harvey protested, but his father held up his hand for silence. After Harold left, Harvey frowned at his father's decision.

"You know he's hiding something," said Harvey. "Why did you let him leave?"

"Because he wasn't going to tell us," said the Original Alpha and he turned to Harvey. "Harold will be on lockdown for awhile. In the meantime, I need you to fetch this McCall person and bring him back here. Try to make sure you do it alive."

Harvey nodded. "Father…what do you think happened with Harry?"

The Original Alpha shrugged helplessly. "I'm not quite sure, but I'll find out soon. Towns likes these can't keep secrets for long."


	34. Chapter 34: Abstraction

**Chapter 34: Abstraction**

When Harold woke up in the late afternoon, he was surprised to find himself in the library. He was even more surprised that he was sitting in a chair. The bandages around his wrists were replaced with silver cuffs that kept his hands locked with the armrests.

He tugged on the chains to test their strength, but realized these were the same chains used on werewolves that were about to be tried against their family. Fear welled inside as he glanced around the room to find anything to help his escape. But, his father had dealt with many troubled werewolves and knew exactly how to imprison them.

The entrance door squeaked open. The Original Alpha and three other werewolves walked in, each taking their proper positions. Harold tensed up, knowing exactly what was going to happen next.

Harold turned to his father. "Père…"

His father slashed his hand in the air. "Calme!"

Harold went silent, but grew anxious every breath he took. The back of his neck tingled in anticipation as his mind scurried to find sanctuary.

The Original Alpha stalked to Harold, stopping only a few feet short. He placed his hands in his jacket's pockets, intensely staring down at his eldest son.

"I'll give you one chance to come clean," said the Original Alpha.

"Dad…please," said Harold. "Don't…it's just personal. It's nothing—"

The Original Alpha's eyes darkened to blood. The skin around his jaw line sprouted dark hairs as he let out a furious roar that forced silence from Harold.

The Original Alpha towered over Harold. "What are you hiding?"

Harold swallowed the words that immediately came up. His throat constricted tight to keep himself from spilling the truth of his adventurous night/morning. With difficulty, he shook his head.

The Original Alpha sighed heavily and nodded. The two werewolves behind Harold latched their claws into his skin as they held him firmly. Harold jerked at the slight pain that twinge his nerves. The Original Alpha strolled around and stood directly behind him.

Harold's neck prickled and he quickly threw up barricades to protect his mind. He heard his father's claws grow out and tickled the back hairs of his neck. His father performed the ancient ritual multiple times that he could dig anything out from anyone. No secret was safe from him once his claws sunk into the skin.

He felt his father's breath against his ear. "I gave you a chance, Harry."

Then, a surging amount of force punctured the back of his neck as white-hot fire burned through his mind. Harold struggled, but the two werewolves kept a firm grasp on him.

His mind panicked. An intruder entered and was digging, tossing flashes of his life aside. Harold's father was looking for something particular. The barricades Harold built fell and his father was getting closer to the truth.

Frantically, he buried everything related to Scott and Melissa in the furthest part of his mind. He sensed his father's persistence, digging after it. But, Harold managed to keep it out of grasp. He threw mental roadblocks to distract his father and tried to divert him away. As his father kept pushing further, Harold quickly created fake memories of his previous nights. Of course, the fake memories were too foggy to convince his father they were real.

Minutes of enduring battles nearly killed Harold's mind, but he kept resisting his father's prying. Finally, his father's claws extracted from the back of his neck and Harold would have fallen over if he weren't already held up.

The Original Alpha huffed. "I've trained you too well."

Harold struggled for breaths as the pain faded from his mind. "I'm sorry."

The Original Alpha shook his head. "I'd never thought I would doubt my son's loyalties," he said and snapped his fingers to the werewolves. "Take him away."

The werewolves unlocked the chains and dragged Harold to the library exit when his father stopped them.

"Until your ready," he threatened, "you'll be staying in the cellar. Goodbye."

_**BREAK**_

The werewolves dropped Harold inside the cellar and closed the door behind him. Harold went to the far back of the cell and sagged against the wall.

Despite the epic mind battle with his father, Harold desired to tell his father the truth. He wanted his family's help in punishing Gerard. His lust for the taste of Gerard's blood coursed through his very veins. But his heart had sunk into a deep pit when he thought about Scott and Melissa.

The two people he could not tell his family about. Melissa made it clear she didn't want his family near Scott. She wanted to raise him as human as possible. And, his family would never allow it since Scott's their last descendent. But that wasn't bothering him.

Since he left Beacon Hills all those years ago, Harold pushed those memories far back in his mind. Melissa and Scott were gone when he returned to France. He tried to distract himself with missions and other girls, but every now and then, his mind wondered to Melissa and Scott. He wondered how they were and considered calling Deaton to check-up on them. But, after consideration, changed his mind and went back to the distractions.

As Harold pondered how long his father was willing to keep him down here, the door opened and Flynn stepped through the doorway. Harold perked up when he saw his old friend.

"Flynn!"

Flynn closed the door quietly and approached Harold. "Sire, are you okay?"

"I'll make it through," said Harold, massaging his neck. "Listen, I need you to do something."

Flynn shook his head. "I can't! Your father gave everyone explicit orders concerning you."

"Me?"

"You're on suspension."

Harold craned his head back and let out a frustrated huff. "Understandable on his part."

"I'm really sorry, Harry."

Harold waved his hand. "You don't have to be if you do me this one thing."

Flynn resigned as his eyebrows drew in. "Does this have to do with the pup?"

Harold growled at Flynn's nickname for Scott, but realized his friend didn't mean it to be rude. He was being accurate in his description. His son was still a very young werewolf.

"Yes," said Harold. "I need you keep an eye on him?"

"Spy sire?"

"Not spy," said Harold. "Just, checking in more or less."

"What should I say if your father asks?"

"Make something up."

"What if he does—"

"He won't," said Harold, off-handily. "You weren't with me last night. He wouldn't bother you with his time."

Flynn agreed, but Harold sensed a nagging presence in his friend. "What?" asked Harold.

Flynn bowed his head. "Sire, I must ask! What's so important about this pup?

Harold shook his head. "Sorry, Flynn," he said, gravely. "But, it's best that you're kept in the dark."

"Sire!" Flynn implored. "How am I to help you if I don't know what the plan is?"

Harold scrubbed his face with his hands, exhausted of all the prying and questions. He understood that Flynn wouldn't betray him to his father. Flynn was a loyal servant to him for years to the point he considered Flynn a friend. Which is why he refused to inform Flynn of Scott.

"You don't need to know the plan to help," said Harold. "Please, keep an eye on him."

Flynn took a deep breath. "Fine. I'll send you updates."

Harold patted Flynn on the back. "Thank you."

Flynn exited the cellar cautiously to ensure no one saw him exit the cellar. Harold heard Flynn lock the door behind him and was again alone in his imprisonment.

Though he had no windows, Harold knew the sky was bruising into the night sky. The crescent moon will smile down on the inhabitants of Beacon Hills, while it laughs at Harold's expense of his failures.

Harold dropped to the floor and prayed to whoever listened to protect Scott.

_**BREAK**_

When Scott woke up that night, he called out to his dad. But, instead, it was his mother who answered him.

"No, Scott, it's me," said Melissa.

Scott looked off to his side to see his mother standing by him. Her face fell into a sense of relief, but the wrinkles underneath her eyes told Scott that she's hadn't slept for hours. She tried her best to smile, but all the hurt welled inside her couldn't make her lips move up.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better than this morning," replied Scott as he glanced about the room. "Where did Dad go?"

Melissa pull Deaton's chair over and sat down. "Your father and I…we talked," she started and Scott's heart skipped a beat. "We decided it's best for you that he keeps his distance."

"Distance?"

Melissa nodded. "Your father is staying away for your protection. After all…this," She gestured to the dried blood on his chest and leg, "Scott, we just want to keep you safe."

"But…it's too late," said Scott. "They know."

"They know because of Harold," insisted Melissa. "He put the red target on your back."

Melissa walked to the counter and pulled out a pair of new clothes for her son. "Deaton said once you were awake, you could go home," she said. "But, I don't want you to go to school tomorrow. You're taking a sick day."

Scott changed into the new clothes and found his mother leaving a note for Dr. Deaton. Together, they got into Melissa's car and she drove them home.

"Mom," began Scott. "It's not Dad's fault."

Melissa tightened her grip on the steering wheel and sighed heavily. "Yes it is Scott," she said. "He's the werewolf. He passed the gene to you. Now, you're in constant danger because of it. From hunters and werewolves alike. I blame your father."

"Mom, I didn't become a werewolf because of the genes," said Scott. "I was bitten. And, Dad didn't poison me. Hell, I think he even saved me."

Melissa slammed on the brakes. Scott grabbed the car handle to brace himself from the sudden stop. He looked to his mother to see her face shading to the color rose.

"What?" demanded Melissa. "You were bitten?"

Scott nodded.

"When?"

"The night that woman was found ripped in half in the woods."

Melissa turned away from her son, her mouth agape. Scott couldn't tell if she was breathing or not and grew increasingly worried.

"Mom?"

Melissa didn't respond. Her gaze was fixed in front of her, but her vacant expression told Scott that she was reeling from the lies he had kept from her. Scott wanted to hug his mother like he use to do when she got upset. Like the day his father walked out of their lives. She was on the couch, crying, and Scott embraced her to show that he would never leave her.

Scott reached for her shoulder. "Mom?"

She jerked at his movement. "I-I can't believe it," she mustered to say. "After all this time? You've lied to my face."

"Mom…"

Melissa held her hand up. "I thought…" She looked at Scott for a brief moment. "Father like son. You're just like him in some ways. The lies…"

Scott was stung by the comment. "Mom! No, of course not! I No. I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want to freak you out."

"Well, it's too late now," said Melissa. "I'm freaking out! But, not because you're a werewolf. I got over that when your father told me the first time. No, I'm freaking out that there are people who want to kill you! And, that you've been lying to me."

"I'm sorry."

Melissa exhaled deeply. Scott was ashamed of himself. His mother was comparing him to his dead-beat werewolf father, who abandoned them years ago. He swore when he left that he would never be like him. How that promise has slowly been breaking.

Melissa clapped her hands together. "Okay, Scott, from now on," she said. "No more secrets. Okay? We're in this together."

Scott nodded. "I promise."

Melissa accepted the answer and put her foot back on the accelerator. They returned to their small house. Scott's stomach growled and Melissa went to check the pantry for any food. Scott sat at the table, resting. Though he felt much better, he still felt weak. Maybe his strength would return in a few more days.

"Well, we have pasta and…soup," said Melissa behind the door. "Which one?"

"Neither."

"Pick."

Scott was about to answer pasta when he senses kicked in. He perked up, his eyes searching out the back windows and deep into the night's camouflage. His skin prickled, his nostrils tingling at a new scent.

"Scott?" called his mother, poking her head from the door. "Which is it?" Melissa saw her son's concentrated face. "What is it?"

Scott got up from the table and moved to the window, his eyes fixed outside. Melissa followed her son's gaze.

"Scott? What is it?"

"I think someone's outside."

Melissa looked out. "I don't see anyone."

"They're there," said Scott. "I can smell them and they're not human."

Melissa paled, but spun back to the kitchen counters, flinging a drawer open, and pulling out a butcher knife. She went to the back door and locked it.

"Scott, go to your room," she ordered. "Lock the door."

Scott glanced from the knife to his mother. "Mom! You can't kill a werewolf with a knife!"

"Scott just do what I say," ordered Melissa.

"Mom! I'm a werewolf!" cried Scott. "I can fight them off."

"Just do as I say!"

Scott backed away from the window as his mother guarded the back rooms alone. As he made it to the front of the house to climb the stairs, his senses alerted him once more.

"Mom!"

"What?"

"They're outside the front too."

Melissa made her way to the front of the house. The front door was already locked, but Scott knew it could not keep a werewolf out.

"Mom…"

"I'm calling the cops," said Melissa. "That might scare them off."

The moment Melissa went to go to the phone. The front door burst open. A werewolf jumped inside and went straight for her. Melissa screamed and held the knife tightly in her hand. Scott, instinctively, flung himself in front of his mother and shoved her out of harm's way. The werewolf collided with him and the both ended on the floor. Flat on his back, Scott tried to get the werewolf off him, but he could barely prevent the werewolf's snapping teeth from his own face.

The werewolf had the upper hand until it squealed and rolled off of Scott. Melissa came up behind and stabbed the werewolf repeatedly, the knife bathed in blood. She grabbed Scott's hand and lifted him from the floor as they heard the back windows shattered.

"Go!" roared Melissa as they ran to the front door, but halted when they saw another werewolf approaching the house. "Upstairs!"

Melissa pushed Scott up the stairs as the werewolves stalked them. One scratched Melissa's ankles, but she sliced their fingers with the knife. Scott stopped to help her, but she pushed him forward.

"Room!"

Scott ran to the bedroom and slammed the door closed once his mother hobbled inside. He double locked it, but Scott knew that could only keep the werewolves out for maybe three seconds.

"Mom…we have to get out of here," said Scott. "We won't win against them."

Melissa didn't respond. Scott turned to his right, but she wasn't there. He could have sworn she was standing right there. Scott rotated completely around and froze.

In the middle of his bedroom stood a dark, muscular figure. In his grasping hands was his mother's neck as she looked fearfully on at her son. He had a smirk and an air of confidence while watching Scott's face fall in horror.

"MOM!" cried Scott as he rushed forward to save her.

The stranger lifted Melissa off the floor. "One more move and her neck snaps," said the man.

Scott stopped. "Please! Don't kill her! Please…"

"Stop the begging, it's pathetic," ordered the stranger.

Scott stared at the stranger, his head tilted to the side with deep thought. "Wait…I know you! You…"

"Yes, McCall," responded the werewolf. "You and your hunter friend tried to kill me."

"You tried to kill me first," said Scott, coolly.

The werewolf growled. "You should learn to respect me."

"Why?" quipped Scott. "Because you're part of the Originals?" The werewolf growled sinisterly. "Yeah, I'm aware of your elite pack. And, I'm not afraid of you."

Suddenly, the Original smiled and chortled. "Well, you should be, pup. Because, you're being summoned."

"For what?"

"For a trial," finished the werewolf. "So, we can either do it the easy way or…" The werewolf's tightened his grip around Melissa's neck and she started to choke.

"Stop! Stop!" cried Scott. "Leave her alone!"

The werewolf didn't loosen his grip. "Then we have a deal?"

Scott stared at his mother. Her face was coloring to a bluish color, but he sense her fear and her urges to tell him not to go. But, Scott's own fears of losing his mother were stronger. Scott nodded.

"Okay," Scott surrendered. "Now, please, let her go."

The werewolf released his fingers and Melissa dropped to the floor, clutching her throat. Scott moved to stand next to his mother, but the werewolf snatched him and threw him across the bedroom. Scott hit his head and flopped to the floor, groaning.

The werewolf laughed. "Not as strong as before? What? Didn't have your Wheaties for breakfast?" The werewolf leaned next to his ear. "Never play against the big boys."

Scott scowled at the werewolf's taunts. Scott wondered if this was how his father treated other werewolves? Like insignificant people as his brother was doing. Did he hurt their loved ones? Did he kill any innocents?

His bedroom door broke open and two werewolves fell into the bedroom, snarling. Scott recognized the werewolf his mother stabbed was healed in no time and was eyeing for revenge on her. The Original raised his hand and they calmed down, but stared hungrily at Scott and his mother.

"Take him," ordered the Original, jabbing a finger at Scott.

Scott backed himself against the wall as the two werewolves preyed on him. One pulled out a sack and the other a rope and Scott figured it was to conceal him from their destination. Just as they moved to take Scott, the Original roared.

Everyone turned to look at the Original to see a knife sticking from his back. Melissa was standing nearby, fuming. "You're not taking _my_ son!"

The Original werewolf snarled as the other two went to offense position. Scott lunged and grabbed the werewolves' ankles and pulled to lose their balance. They clattered to the floor and one kicked Scott in the head, but Scott refused to let go.

"RUN MOM!" cried Scott.

The werewolves kicked Scott again in the head. He could hear his mother calling his name, the livid howl, and the beating sound as objects shattered Scott's floor. The final kick caused Scott to let go and the two werewolves pounced on him.

Scott's claws scratched one of the werewolves' shirts open, blood dripping on his face. One grabbed his wrists to control him, but Scott fought tooth and nail to get out of their grasp. He had to save his mother.

"Oh!"

Scott heard his mother's quiet voice and then a heavy thud hit the floor.

Scott's heart fell. "MOM!" he roared as he gathered extra strength and managed to throw one of the werewolves off him. He twisted around the other, who clawed at his shoulder, and saw his mother's out-stretched hand from behind the bed.

Scott elbowed the other werewolf hard. Free, Scott jumped to his feet to rescue his mother, but the Original snapped his attention to Scott and threw powder at his father.

The powder choked Scott and he dropped to his knees, coughing. Wolfsbane powder thought Scott and knew from Derek's experience that he was going to lose his senses shortly. Drifting in and out of reality, Scott crawled as much as he could to his mother.

He found her lying eagle-spread on the floor, blood pooling around her body. Scott reached for his mother's hand. "M-mom…"

Then, a bag fell over Scott's face and he saw her no more.


	35. Chapter 35: Arrêt

**Chapter 35: ****Arrêt**

Chris put the finishing touches on the house security while Allison stood by and watched. After the mysterious sign on their front door, Chris brought the entire arsenal from the garage to the kitchen. He required Allison to carry a weapon with her at all times, no matter what, and to always be home right after school. No after school study sessions with Lydia or hospital visits to Stiles.

Allison obeyed because she understood her father's heightened worries. Since Gerard announced that the sign was from the Originals declaring war and the death of his wife, he's been over burdened with stress and fear.

"Dad," said Allison. "The back side is secured."

"Did you check twice?" he said as he tinkered with an illuminating instrument Allison wasn't quite sure of.

"Yes."

"Did you test it?"

"Yes and it worked," replied Allison. "Anything else?"

Chris planted the instrument into the ground and activated it. He stood up and brushed his hands clean. "Let's go inside."

The duo entered the house to see Gerard working on a new weapon, dipping the arrows in fine dust particles. Allison narrowed her eyes at it.

"Grandpa," she said. "What is that?"

"Wolfsbane," said Gerard. "Highly dangerous to werewolves, including the Originals."

Allison noticed how the purple dust stuck to the arrow tips and Gerard's grin as he examined his fine new weapon. Allison's heart fueled with anger at seeing what he was doing, only thinking if that was what Scott went through when Gerard held him captive. She was aware that Scott was alive. Stiles called earlier to inform her of the successful rescue mission. But, the way her grandfather gleamed in delight made her angrier. He had no empathy, no regret for nearly killing a young, innocent teenager.

Gerard placed the arrow back with the other coated tip arrows. "Get your arrows Allison," he said. "We should add some to your batch."

Allison debated whether to follow, but her father saved her the trouble.

"Allison isn't participating," grunted Chris as he threw down his gloves onto the counter.

Both Allison and Gerard turned to Chris. "Why not?" asked Gerard, "She's the last female. Someone has to take charge."

"Not Allison. My decision is final."

Gerard looked to Allison with questionable interest and requested her to give them a moment. Allison walked out of the kitchen and stomped her feet on the ground to give them the idea she was upstairs.

Then, with her back against the wall, she shuffled her way close to the kitchen. She heard her father and grandfather clearly.

"Chris…keeping her away won't protect her," said Gerard. "You're aware of that, aren't you?"

Allison heard the sound of a gun clipping.

"And bringing into the fray won't either," chimed Chris. "At least, keeping her away will give her more time on Earth. More time than her mother, aunt, and…even myself."

Allison's heart halted.

"Do you expect to die tonight?"

"I expect to die every night when werewolves are on the prowl," said Chris. "That way, I will always have everything in order for Allison to keep living on without me."

Allison pulled her head away. She never realized the emotional turmoil that her father withheld. He always appeared confident and controlled, never despair or anxiety.

"Maybe you should start thinking more positively," spoke Gerard. "Think about finally finishing off the Originals. Once they're gone…"

"It still won't keep Allison safe," interrupted Chris. "Killing the Originals, sure, a big accomplishment for us hunters. But, it will also mark us. Allison…she'll always be hunted, even if she didn't do it. "

"We're _already_ being hunted," argued Gerard. "Don't you see the mark on the door? That's their mark! The sign of death. Right now, we are dead men walking until we kill them all."

Clicking sounds alerted Allison of a gun being cleaned and armed.

"I understand that," agreed Chris. "But, Allison isn't one of them. I want her to live on without having to always fight for her life. That's why, once this whole things is over and I survive, I'm retiring."

A brief moment of silence stilled the kitchen before Gerard erupted. "Retiring! You're not retiring. No! You're an Argent. It's our job to do this. To protect innocent people from the creatures of hell."

"Well, not at the cost of my family!" retorted Chris. "In less than a year I lost a sister and a wife. I won't lose anymore family. And, I won't send Allison down that path either. She deserves better."

"Ignorance will only get you killed Christopher."

"And stupidity will too," added Chris.

Allison heard her grandfather sigh in frustration. "Remember this," he warned. "Those who see evil, but do nothing, is just as evil."

Allison reeled back and tiptoed to the stairs. She climbed to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Her stomach tightened as she though about what she'd done. Her symbol might endanger her father. He was about to attack a bunch of Originals because they thought they struck first.

She had to tell him. She had to warn him that it was her doing. She had to tell her father about her grandfather. How he tried to kill Scott and wanted to start the war between them and the Originals.

Allison fell back onto her bed. She wished everyone would stop plotting and killing. She desired to just go to school, do homework, and hangout with friends (or boyfriend) without having to worry about any supernatural occurrences that might threaten her or her loved ones.

But, the Originals arrived in town. They killed Jackson. Injured Stiles. And planned on killing her family that one night. They were just as guilty of killing and plotting as her family. They were no less innocent than her mother or aunt or grandfather. They came with blood lusts that drives them to rip throats out of innocents.

Yet, didn't her grandfather try to kill Scott? An innocent werewolf. No, an innocent Original who was trying his best to protect people with his abilities rather than use them for evil.

Neither of their families was innocent, but Allison knew that if they continued their quest of elimination, then both sides would lose greatly. And, Allison wasn't interested in losing anymore.

It was time to end the feud.

_**BREAK**_

Scott couldn't breathe.

The bag over his head and the influences of the wolfsbane blown in his face made him nauseous. What made him feel even more sick was the last image of his mother. He could see her clearly, lying on the ground as red pooled around her. His mind tried to trick him, haunting him with images of caskets and a gravestone with her carved name and final date.

Scott cried out for his mother, but no words escaped from his lips. He forced his arms to break away from his handlers, but her nerves disobeyed and he remained as a ragdoll. Minutes had gone by since he was placed inside the car, but Scott didn't worry about where they were taking him. All he thought about was escaping to save his mom.

The car stopped and Scott felt himself being dragged out of the vehicle. His legs went limped as they roughed him up to stand. He couldn't, so they dragged him to an unknown place. Scott heard doors opening and feet hitting wooden floorings. They were inside a house and Scott's mind suddenly went to his father.

He concentrated hard. Lips puckered to speak, to cry out for his father for help. But, only a squeak came from his pressed lips and he was thrown down onto a chair. After his wrists were chained up, the bag lifted and Scott saw the marvelous architecture.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with leather-bound books and statues of artistic beauty. A tiny diamond chandelier dangled elegantly above Scott's head, it's crystal reflecting light on his face. Scott glanced away and continued to examine his surroundings. There was no other furniture.

Two of the werewolves that attacked his house were with him, standing on either side of him. They didn't look over at him. Instead, they stood silently and waited patiently for someone else's arrival.

And that someone else entered.

He was an older gentleman with graying dark hair. He had a prominent chin, making him appear sharp and calculative. Dark brown eyes glared intensively at Scott, but the young werewolf noticed how similar the man's eyes were to his own. That's when Scott realized who was standing in front of him. It was his grandfather, the Alpha.

Behind him was the werewolf that attacked his mother. He had similar features to the Alpha. He must be his uncle. Scott wondered if his father would come soon and rescue him from the entrapment. But, as of now, Harold was nowhere.

Both Alpha and the werewolf looked down at Scott with different expressions. One of interest and another of anger. Scott could see they had different interests on how to handle him. One wanted to outright kill him, while the other wanted information. Scott would rather not do either one.

The Alpha approached Scott, his eyes never wavering. "So, you're the little werewolf that's been causing so many problems."

Scott stared defiantly. Scott's uncle growled, but the Alpha raised his hand for silence.

"What's your name?" asked the Alpha.

Scott didn't answer. The Alpha spoke coldly. "I would advise that you answer," he warned. "Because I know of other means to get what I want."

Scott remembered how Derek relied to him and Stiles of the torturous methods the Originals used to get information and to punish lawbreakers. With a huff, Scott tried to make an attempt to speak. He pursed his lips together and concentrated on words he needed to say. But, Scott was surprised that he found that his lips freely moved.

"Scott McCall," he answered, still in wonder how he was now able to talk. His limbs were more loose. The wolfsbane dust's effects had disappeared.

Scott began tugging on his chains. The Alpha leered over Scott's pathetic attempt. "Those chains are unbreakable," he said. "You can't escape and, even if you can, Harvey here will just kill you right away."

Scott's eyes fired like brimstone. "Like how he killed my mother!"

The Alpha was taken back by Scott's fiery spirit. "Your mother?"

The Alpha turned back to Harvey, who gave a nonchalant shrug. "She got in the way."

Scott's emotions raged inside and he felt his wolf side blooming. Claws immediately sunk into his shoulder blades and he howled at the pain. The two werewolves removed their claws from Scott's shoulder, revealing four tiny, bloodied holes.

"Keep that temper down, Scott," said the Alpha. "Remember you're on trial."

"What's the point?" challenged Scott. "You already made your decision."

The Alpha studied Scott, intrigued. "I've met many werewolves," he said. "Each one trembled at the sight of us. Fear laced in their blood and eyes glassy as they beg for forgiveness."

Scott raised his eyebrows, wondering what the others had to do with him.

"But you, you're different," continued the Alpha. "You must be very brave…or stupid. I don't see an ounce of fear in you. I can't even smell it."

"That's because I'm not afraid of you," answered Scott.

The Alpha grinned, but still examined Scott with sharp interest. "Which is why you're alive right now," he said. "You're a fascinating werewolf, Scott. You managed to uphold your own against an Original. Not a normal feat by any means, especially from a young cub like yourself."

The Alpha's mouth thinned as he continued speaking, like it was difficult to speak. "You're also friends with hunters as well? The Argents?" he said. "Not the status-quo."

"Thank God for that."

The Alpha's eyes dropped to slits, glowing blood red. Scott waited. There was a reason why the Alpha hadn't ordered his immediate death. He sensed the Alpha's strong interest in him, but Scott wondered where it would lead him.

"I see a lot of potential in you, Scott," spoke the Alpha after a good moment. "With a few adjustments, you would be a valuable asset."

Scott cringed at the word. What did he mean by that?

"I'm going to give you an offer that you shouldn't refuse," said the Alpha, to which Scott gazed questionably at the Alpha. "I'll spare your life," he negotiated, as Harvey looked agitated from behind, "if you join the pack as a soldier."

Scott scoffed at the proposition. "I won't help you kill people."

"You ought to reconsider," suggested the Alpha. "Seeing as the alternative isn't exactly better."

Scott thought about his mother, who is possibly dead now. Who tried her best to provide for him and gave her life to save him. He thought about Allison, who held no prejudice for his nature and still loved him. He thought of Stiles, who stuck around and helped him, never giving up on doing the right thing. He even thought of Derek, who disliked his friends, always aided Scott and had his back. None of them abandoned him. None of them betrayed him. And, he wouldn't do that to them. Just like they wouldn't do that to him.

He also thought about admitting the truth about himself. Would they believe him? Probably not, but Scott would have sown a doubt in their minds. They would have fetched Harold to confirm the truth. Then, Scott would be able to run from them and escape the fate forced upon him by his grandfather.

But, would he truly be free? He could not run from them entirely. They would find him. They would hunt him down. His father basically told him that his grandfather would have him join the pack unwillingly. He would be stuck in their pack, forced to leave Beacon Hills and his friends. He would have no choice in the matter but to be trained as a predatory werewolf. And, Scott did not want that.

There was only one option left.

Scott glared back up at the Alpha. "I'd rather die than be forced to kill."

Scott sensed the Alpha's disappoint. But, the Alpha shrugged and walked back to the door. He turned to the other two werewolves who stood behind Scott. "As he wishes."

Then, both the Alpha and Harvey exited the room. Scott took a deep breath. His mother was dead and his father nowhere. Tears welled in his eyes as he thought about the people he loves. Stiles, Allison, even Derek would never see him again. All their work to rescue him from the Argents was pointless. They only postponed the inevitable.

Scott heard the werewolves growl as their feet scratched the surface of the floors. They moved into Scott's view. He took one look at them, his executioners, before closing his eyes.

This was his end.

_**BREAK**_

Flynn sprinted down the hallway. He brushed and shoved the other werewolves aside. His legs cramped, but he pushed forward. Time was not on his side.

Perspiration bubbled on the sides of his face as he pushed pass the guards on duty at the cellar's entrance. They didn't budge. They shoved Flynn back.

"Flynn, orders are orders," they said. "We can't let you back in unless…"

"I know!" barked Flynn. "But, it's an emergency!"

The guards balked at Flynn's insistence and refused to step away from the door. Flynn had no time and little patience to deal with the refusal. He lashed out and slammed the less powerful werewolves heads together, knocking them out.

He burst through the door as his eyes jumped to the nearest movement. He found Harold sitting at the corner of his prison. Harold jerked at the loud entrance, surprised to find Flynn barging into his prison.

"Flynn?" spoke Harold. "What's the matter with—"

"Sire! He's here! That McCall. Your brother brought him here," cried Flynn.

Harold leapt to his feet. "What? Right now?"

Flynn shook his head. "I just found out sire," he said. "No, they just ordered his execution!"

Flynn barely got the last word off the tip of his tongue before Harold shoved him aside and dashed out of the cellar.


	36. Chapter 36: Ancestry

**Chapter 36: Ancestry **

Harold sensed his son's presence the moment he escaped the cellar. He wasted no time jumping up to the second floor as others watched in confusion and surprise. They jumped out of the charging bull's path, clutching themselves close. They could see his eyes reddening as he made a way to the interrogation room. Though they knew of his suspension, no one dared to try and stop him.

Harold kicked the interrogation door opened. The werewolves stood in front of his chaired son; claws ripe and ready to strike. One got too greedy and slashed at Scott's neck.

Blood spurted out of Scott's neck and droplets riddled the floor. Scott's head rolled to the side and Harold heard his son gurgled for air. The werewolf, blood coated his claws, raised to strike again.

Seconds flashed, Harold leapt into action, coming between the werewolves and his son. With one hand, he pushed Scott out of harm's way. Scott's chair broke when it slammed into the wall. Harold's werewolf nature raged out, full blown as he tossed the werewolf like a raggedy doll around the room. The other grew frightened and tried to make it to the door, but Harold snatched him by his ankles and swung him into the wall. The werewolf fell into a heap, motionless.

Panting, Harold scanned the room, his red eyes searching for any contenders. Both werewolves didn't stir and Harold hurried to his crippled son, his werewolf nature rescinding.

He dropped to his knees and lifted Scott out of the rubble left from the broken chair. Blood profuse from his neck where the werewolf's claws cut. Harold put his hand behind Scott's neck and tried to keep the wound close.

Scott's eyes rolled to his father's. He tried to speak, but Harold hushed him. "Don't speak."

Blood trickled down Harold's hands, but he kept a firm support on Scott's neck to help the healing process. Harold was thankful the werewolf's claws didn't dig deeper into his son's flesh or he would be sobbing over Scott's dead body.

Flynn entered, looking around at the devastation. "Sire!"

"Get me a cloth!" barked Harold. "Now!"

Flynn jumped into action as more people appeared outside the door, watching the scene. Seconds later, Flynn returned with a rag and handed it to Harold. He snatched it and placed it on Scott's already healing neck wounds.

"Easy Scott," Harold soothed. "It's all right. I got you. You're safe."

Scott's chest rose and fell rapidly and his muscles strained at the intensity of pain that coursed through him. Harold released the rag to check on the wounds and was satisfied to see they have almost completely healed.

Scott coughed. "D-Dad…"

Tears shed from Harold's eyes as all the tension inside released upon hearing Scott's voice. He lifted Scott up and embraced him tightly. Scott's voice was muffled through Harold's shirt, so Harold didn't get the warning until he heard them speak.

"Harold!"

Harold snapped to the door to see his father standing in front of a watchful crowd. Harvey was there as well, looking just as confused as everyone else. Only the Alpha was burning red.

"My office," demanded the Alpha. "Now!"

The Alpha stepped out of the room and headed where Harold assumed was his office. Harold slowly stood up, but Scott grabbed his father's hand. "Mom…she's hurt. Possibly dead…"

Harold rubbed Scott's shoulders as his nerves spiked at hearing of Melissa's predicament. "I'm sure she's fine. I'll send help to the house."

"Harry!" barked Harvey, urgently.

Scott attempted to shove passed Harold, but his father pulled him back. "No! Stay here for right now. I promise I'll send someone to your Mom."

Scott tried to push his way out, but Harold enfolded him, refusing to let him go. Scott punched his father in the chest. "Let me go! Lemme go! I need to save her."

Harold withstood Scott's attack. "Please Scott. Calm down. Calm down!" he ordered, pushing Scott back and cupped his son's face. "Listen. Listen to me!"

Scott stopped. Thin lines of blood painted his neck as Scott's nostrils flared. Fear and anger washed over his son's face and he felt guilty leaving him at this pivotal moment.

"Stay here with Flynn, all right," pleaded Harold, gesturing to the werewolf who strolled over to the father-son duo. "I'll fix this all over," he assured, but he sensed his son's doubt. "Please, Scott, don't do anything stupid. Wait here with Flynn. He'll protect you."

Flynn nodded and stood guard over Scott. His son glanced from Flynn to Harold. Flynn assured Harold he would look after him as Harold bustled out of the room. The crowd outside the door backed away. Harold eyed them all and they all turned away, pretending to be occupied with something else. Harold slammed the doors behind for his son's privacy and, with a deep breath, wandered over to his father's office.

The news of Melissa's predicament racked Harold's nerves. His newfound fear for Melissa heightened his anxiety and he wanted to dash over to find her. But, his father would've prevented him from doing so until after the talk. Harold could only do one thing. He flipped out his phone and dialed the only person he could trust.

"Hello?"

"Hey! It's me," said Harold. "I need you to check on Melissa."

"Why? What happened? Is everything okay?"

"No…no not at all," said Harold, wiping his face with sleeve. "Please, just check on her."

"And Scott?"

"Scott's with me," said Harold. "Just check up on Melissa and call me back with the report."

His confidant agreed and Harold ended the conversation when he reached his father's office.

He walked through the doors to find his father leaning against his desk. Harvey paced in front of the windows. They both looked over at him. His father's face darkened at the sight of his eldest son.

"Fermez la porte!" the Alpha ordered.

Harold obeyed and closed the door behind him. He dragged his feet as he walked further into the office. His father flared as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

The anger seeped out of his father's pores and Harold's heartbeat drummed.

"Père…"

"Faire taire!" barked the Alpha, causing Harold to jump slightly. "I don't want to hear anymore God damn excuses from you. No more bullshit!" The Alpha pointed in the direction of the interrogation room. "What the cub said…is it true?"

Harold sagged. It was too late to shield Scott from his family. He wandered over to Harvey, who waited with much anticipation. His eyes pleading for it to be untrue as his heart raced. Harold looked away from his brother and back to the Alpha. "Father…it's a long story."

The Alpha straightened and his muscles bulged. "Do I need to drag his ass in here to get you to talk?"

"No…"

"Then answer!" snapped the Alpha, his voice reverberating around the office. "Is that cub your _son_?"

After a brief moment of desperation, Harold nodded.

Alpha sulked away from his eldest. He turned his back onto him, rubbing the middle of his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. Harvey stared at Harold exasperatedly and then swore under his breath. He buried his face in his palms in distress.

Back turned, the Alpha spoke. "How long?"

Harold was confused. "How long what?"

The Alpha turned back, looking drained of emotions. "How long have you known? Since we've been in town? Is that why you kept disappearing? To visit him?"

Harold gravely nodded.

"So, you just found out?" queried the Alpha.

The Alpha narrowed his eyes on Harold, who faltered in his speech. The Alpha sighed, irritably. "Harold…how _long_ have you known about your son?"

Harold inhaled deeply as he looked away from his father. "About seventeen years."

Harvey swore again and furiously raked his hair. The Alpha closed his eyes and grimaced. Irritation boiled his blood. "And you didn't think that it was important to tell us?"

"I wanted to tell you…"

"What?" asked the Alpha, sharply. "Did the birth announcement get lost in the mail?"

"Father—"

"How could you keep something like this from us?" demanded the Alpha, the veins in his neck pulsing. "We're your family! For Christ's sake, Harold! That cub is our family. He's my grandson!"

"I know, but we wanted him to have a normal—"

"Normal?" spat the Alpha. "He's not normal, Harold. He's a member of this pack. And, he's been left unprotected for seventeen years! Hunters would have killed him in no time if they knew what he was."

"I'm surprised the Argents haven't killed him off," added Harvey, who was finally able to speak. "With them in town…it's really a surprise."

The mere mention of the Argent's name rattled Harold's heart. The Alpha sensed the distress and lust of vengeance in his eldest son.

"What?" the Alpha questioned. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," insisted Harold. "It's been handled."

"What's been handled?" The Alpha cocked his head back in realization. "This morning…your wrists."

"What?" asked Harvey, who felt left out. "What about his wrists?"

Lines grew deeper in the Alpha's forehead. "They _do_ know about him."

"It's been taken care of at the moment," ensured Harold.

The Alpha scoffed. "That's comforting to know!" He then slammed his hand on the table, indenting it. "This is why we don't keep secrets," growled the Alpha. "That wouldn't have happened if we've known about your son. He would have been safe. Here."

Harold was about to retort the statement when his phone went off. He saw the caller I.D. and quickly answered, much to his father's charging.

"Is she okay?" Harold asked.

"It was bad," said the caller. "Really bad. I got her to the hospital. I don't know much. She lost a lot of blood. I think they might have to do surgery."

Harold's world deflated. "Is…is she alive?" he inquired, softly.

"For now, yes, but…Harold, it's… I don't know."

Harold's hand shook. "Stay there, please. I'll be there as soon as I can. I have to go."

Harold hung up the phone. He could feel his rage trying to burst out from under his calm demeanor. He tried to swallow it down, but the image of Melissa dying only made it worse. He felt his limbs ache and all he wanted to do was collapse, but he had to remain strong. For Scott's sake.

"Who was that?" asked Harvey.

Harold tried to brush tears away from his eye. "No one."

"Who's 'she'?" questioned the Alpha. "Another child?"

Harold shook her head. "No, she's um…she's Scott's mother," he choked. "My wif—ex-wife."

Another ball dropped and his family winded up once again. He felt his father emotions rage out and Harvey started to pace again.

"Let me guess," growled the Alpha. "That also got lost in the mail too."

"It was a small ceremony," stated Harold. "It was a quick thing. Didn't really plan it."

"Why? Because she was pregnant?"

"No!" said Harold, though he understood his father's allegation, he didn't appreciate it. "We…does it matter anymore? It's over! We're not together anymore. Haven't been since—"

"You came back to France," finished the Alpha. "That's why you came back home."

"I came back because you wanted me too," reminded Harold. "Remember?"

"And the whole divorce thing just happened to coincide with your travel plans?"

Harold's breathed heavily. "Yeah…sure."

"This isn't the time to be rude," snapped the Alpha, before he resigned. "You know, I'm not mad at you for trying to have a life here."

Harold stared as his eyebrows arched. "You're not?"

"No. I'm pissed off that you didn't tell us," he said, curtly. "For seventeen years, you've lied to me! You lied to your brother!" His eyes brightened like fresh blood. "Why the secrecy? Huh?"

Harvey walked closer to the group upon hearing the question. Both pair of eyes settled on Harold's exhausted face. They waited with bated breath to hear his reason, but Harold knew the truth would have only hurt them more.

"I didn't tell you…because," started Harold, twiddling his thumbs before shoving them in his jacket's pockets. "Because I thought you wouldn't approve."

The long silence from his father unnerved Harold. He had expected an outcry or at least a scoff from the Alpha, but his father seemed just as emotionally exhausted as Harold. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and sighed while Harvey looked downtrodden.

Nothing was going to be the same between them.

The Alpha regained his voice. "Bring me the boy."

"I don't think—" started Harold, but one glare from the Alpha sent Harold reeling back.

"I don't care what you think anymore," declared the Alpha. "You lost my trust. And, right now, I want to talk to my grandson."

Harold dropped his head and nodded. "All right. I'll…I'll get him."

Harold grabbed the door handle, but the Alpha called him back. Harold glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"If you have anymore secrets," warned the Alpha. "Now will be the time to speak."

Harold shook his head. "No more secrets."

The Alpha eyed him. "I wish I could believe that," he admitted.

Harold sighed and left the office. With the doors against his back, he groaned. This wasn't how he wanted things to happen. Shoving his hair back, he strode across the hallway. No one was around, probably afraid of his father's wrath. He went straight to the doors, with a quick inhale, and opened the door to find Scott sitting on the floor and Flynn next to him.

They both looked up at him with Scott on his feet. "Is she all right?" asked Scott, his voice cracking. "Mom? She's not…she's not…"

Harold shook her head. "She's not dead," he assured and Scott sighed in relief. "She's at the hospital right now. She lost a lot of blood…"

Scott's face whitened. "I-I thought…you said she's okay!"

"I didn't say that," said Harold. "But, I'm sure she'll be okay."

Scott shook and embraced himself for comfort. Harold sensed the dizziness overcoming his son.

"I gotta see her," blubbered Scott. "I-I have to go…"

Harold barred him from the door. "You can't. Not right now."

Scott brows furrowed. "Why the hell not?"

"She's in surgery. They won't let you see her."

"Surgery?" cried Scott. "Why is she in surgery?"

"The accident…"

"It wasn't an accident!" roared Scott, his face now reddening. "They tried to kill her! And me!"

Harold acknowledged Scott's statement, but he grew tired from all the yelling. "Yes. I know. I know what happened, Scott. I don't need a play by play at this moment."

Scott fumed and tried to get around his father. Harold, however, was too quick for his son and prevented him from leaving. Scott grew frustrated and wolfed out, but Harold was still able to block him. Flynn walked over to help, but Harold shook his head.

Harold grunted as Scott attempted to ram him off balance. Harold held his ground and grasped Scott by both sides, pinning his arms together and keeping him still. Scott wiggled to free himself.

"Scott, I promise," said Harold. "I will let you see your mother soon. I promise, okay? I promise. But, right now, you'll have to stay here."

"I don't want to stay here," growled Scott. "I don't want to be anywhere near here…near you!"

"Yeah, I understand," said Harold, though his heart pinched at the comment. "But, you can't leave. They won't let you."

"Why? Still planning on killing me?"

"No. Never," said Harold. "Scott—they know."

Scott stopped trying to get out of his father's grasp. "What?"

"I had to tell them about you," said Harold. "It was the only way to protect you."

Scott's body sagged, dishearten. "They know," he mumbled. "Are—are they going to take me away?"

Harold didn't have an answer. "I don't know."

Scott's heart raced. "Will…will I get a choice?"

"Again, I don't know," said Harold. "Maybe."

Scott didn't like the answer. "I'm screwed."

"You and me both."

They remained quiet for a brief moment until Harold remembered his father. "Scott," he said and Scott barely lifted his head up. "My father—your grandfather—he wants to see you."

"Didn't he already see me?"

"Not as his grandson."

"Makes no difference," stated Scott, to which Harold agreed. "And, I'm not interested in seeing him again."

"I figured, but he wants to see you. So…come on." Harold held out his hand.

Scott at first didn't move, but realized if he didn't go with his father then they would come to him. He couldn't avoid the meeting. With huff, Scott followed his father out of the room and into the hallway.

For the first time, he realized how well his father's family must be. The inside was structurally well designed and tapestries decorated the walls they walked passed. The freshly waxed wood floors shined and the aroma smell of gourmet food caused his stomach to sing.

Harold didn't notice anything. He had no reaction to all that surrounded him. He kept a very close distance to his son, one wary eye on the surroundings. But he seemed to have no interest either in delivering Scott to his father. His feet dragged across the floor and he paused briefly before opening his father's office.

Scott too paused, but Harold held the door opened for Scott to step through. With a quick, uneasy glance at his father, he stepped through the doorway and into solemn office. He quickly recognized the Alpha by the desk and the other werewolf as Harvey, his uncle.

Scott heard the door close behind him and felt his father's presence behind him. Scott wanted to back out and run, but with three Originals in a room, he doubted he could get very far. Plus, their servant downstairs would probably stop him from exiting.

The Alpha gave his attempt of a warm smile and gestured Scott to walk over. Scott cautiously walked over, noting possible exits. He stopped a few feet away from the Alpha. His grandfather examined him closely, which made Scott uncomfortable. But, he held his ground and stared right back at the Alpha.

"So…you're my grandson," said the Alpha.

Scott didn't say anything. He honestly didn't know what to say. Just a few minutes ago, this man ordered his death. Had no care for his life. Only that he wanted to use him as a tool for domination.

The Alpha looked at both Harold and Harvey. "Boys, I would like to speak to my grandson privately."

Harold stepped forward. "Dad—"

The Alpha sharpened his gaze at Harold. "Now."

Harold exhaled loudly and turned to Scott. "I'll be outside, okay?" he said. "If you—"

"Dad," interrupted Scott. "This isn't exactly my first rodeo."

Harold lips thinned as he frowned. "Yeah, I know."

"He'll be fine Harold," snipped the Alpha. "We're just going to talk."

Though he didn't like the idea of leaving his father with his son alone, he had no choice and left the room with his brother. They closed the doors, but Harold didn't leave. He stood guard by the doors, his arms crossed while he leaned against the wall.

Harold gazed over his younger brother and saw the pained expression the dwell on his brother's façade.

"Are you mad at me too?" asked Harold.

Harvey shook his head. "No. Not mad…just guilty."

Harold wrinkled his brow. "Guilty? Why?"

Harvey straddled over to his brother and leaned next to him. His breathing was unsteady, which worried Harold.

"Harvey…"

"I attacked him," admitted Harvey. "I-I attacked him and wanted him dead."

"You didn't know."

"That doesn't change the fact that I still tried to kill him…twice!"

Harvey inhaled and shifted uncomfortably against the wall. He looked down at his hands that were fiddling with the buttons of his jacket.

"He hates me now, doesn't he?" asked Harvey.

"He hates me too if that makes you feel any better." Harold added.

"Not really."

Harvey let go of his jacket. "I wanted to be the cool uncle, you know?" he said. "I wanted your kids to come to me when they were mad at you. I wanted to teach them tricks and techniques..."

"You still can."

"It's too late. He can hold his own," said Harvey. "Besides, I doubt he would want to hang-out with me."

"I doubt he really wants to hang-out with dad right now. Any of us, really."

Both brothers sighed. They stood next to each other in silence, listening to their own thoughts. Harold tried to hear inside, but he couldn't. The office was sealed for protection most likely from any sort of eavesdroppers. Harold concentrated on Scott's pulsing heart and was glad to hear that it was beating normally.

"Why didn't you really say anything about him?"

Harold focused on his brother. "What? I told you and Dad already."

Harvey gave a dry chuckle. "That was bullshit," he said. "Well, half of it was bullshit."

Harvey rolled his head so that he could look at Harold. "Seriously though, why? We would have been happy for you. Dad always wanted grandchildren. Hell, I wouldn't have mind babysitting."

Harold laughed. "Babysitting! You were seventeen years old when Scott was born. You could hardly take care of yourself."

"Yeah, well…yeah, I would still have liked to hang-out with my nephew and bought him gelato, toys, and…"

Harvey mumbled the last words and stopped. He's heart grew heavy from the guilt he felt through his actions since arriving at Beacon Hills. He scrubbed his face with his hands and straightened up.

"Well, I guess it's too late now," said Harvey, "And, Harold?"

Harold glanced at his baby brother.

"I'm sorry," said Harvey, sincerely. "I'm really sorry for what I've done. For...attacking your family. I'm really…"

Harold stopped his brother. "It's not your fault Harvey. It's mine. I should have told you guys. Then, none of this would have happened. So, don't blame yourself."

Harvey gravely nodded, but Harold knew that Harvey still carried much guilt. "I'm going for a walk. I need to…clear my head."

Harvey walked away from his brother, slouched forward. He stopped at the stairs and looked somberly at his brother.

"Harold, I have one more question."

Harold indicated that he could ask.

"Did…did you know that it was your son that attacked me that night?"

Harold shook his head. "No. I didn't. Not until days later."

Harvey accepted the answer and went down the stairs and out of Harold's sight. Once his brother was gone, Harold sunk to the floor. Everything he did was to keep his family safe. But, it all backfired on him. His brother is burdened with guilt. His father betrayed. Scott despised and fear. And Melissa was balancing the line between life and death.

Harold dropped his head between his knees and sniveled alone.


	37. Chapter 37: Akin

**Chapter 37: Akin**

Once the door closed, the Alpha strolled over to Scott. The young werewolf instinctively stepped away, which forced the Alpha to stop.

"I'm not going to hurt you," insisted the Alpha and he pointed to Scott's neck. "You have blood all over you."

Scott reached for his neck, his fingertips sticky in blood. The Alpha handed him a handkerchief and gestured him to follow. Scott accepted the handkerchief, but paused before following his grandfather.

His grandfather moved to a set of cabinets, opening a drawer. He reached to the top shelf and pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He handed the bottle to Scott.

"Apply it gently," advised the Alpha. "No need to make your skin raw."

Scott lathered the handkerchief with the medicine and cleaned his neck. The handkerchief went from white to a heavy pink color. He rubbed a little more and then threw it away.

Meanwhile, the Alpha moved back to the desk and pulled out a bottle of brandy and two glasses.

"I can't remember," he mused, "What's the drinking age in the States?"

"Twenty-one."

"And how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Oh well, hmm…" The Alpha looked down at the two glasses. "Do you care for some anyway?"

Scott shook his head and the Alpha put away one of the glasses and filled the other to the brim. Scott watched the Alpha take a big gulp before setting the glass down.

"What a night," he muttered and looked back to Scott. "So, Scott right?"

Scott nodded.

"Do you prefer Scott or another name?"

"Just Scott."

The Alpha nodded and paused for moment. "I guess you can call me grandpa. Or, if you're not comfortable with that, Henri is fine as well."

"I'm sorry that we had to meet like this," Henri the Alpha said. "I-I didn't know you actually existed until fifteen minutes ago."

Scott didn't say anything. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his mother. He wanted to go to her and every minute that went by made the desire to run double. The pit of his stomach kept twisting into knots as he pictured his mother in the hospital room alone. Dying with no one beside her to comfort her. For his mother to die alone filled Scott with dread.

"I know you'd rather not be here," continued his grandfather, "I can sense the urgency from your heart rate."

"I'm worried about my mother," said Scott.

Henri grimaced. "Yes…of course you are. Understandable. I'll ensure she receives the best care."

That didn't ease Scott's conscious. Henri gestured to the chairs and they both sat down. Scott twiddled his thumbs while his grandfather took another long drink.

"I should have known," said Henri, finally. "Harold's constant disappearance. His avoidance over dealing with…well, you" Scott flickered his eyes to his grandfather. The Alpha fondly smiled. "And, you have my eyes."

Scott looked away. "Yeah, I-I've heard."

Henri tapped on the chair's arms. "Listen, I know this is awkward for both of us," he said. "When I think of grandchildren, I expect babies. Not—"

"Teenagers?"

"Adults," corrected Henri. "I always figured I would be around them and watch them grow up. But you—" Henri sighed heavily. "You already grew up on your own. Figured all the werewolf abilities on your own."

Scott didn't correct him. He didn't develop his werewolf abilities alone. Stiles, Derek, and Dr. Deaton all helped him cope with the new transformation. Even Allison helped by being around him.

"So, um, Scott," said Henri. "Sixteen…so, you must have gotten your licenses, correct? Or is that eighteen here in the States?"

"It's sixteen," said Scott. "But, I don't own a car."

"No car? A motorcycle then?"

"No motorcycle," said Scott, making him feel financially insecure. "We're not…I mean, we're fine. I don't really need a car. It's a small town here."

Henri's eyebrows rose. "I see. So, no car or motorcycle. What's the point in having a licenses then?"

Scott shrugged. "Just in case, I guess. Maybe when I get more money I will buy one."

The Alpha gave an approving nod. "Well, if you ever think about getting either a car or motorcycle, Harvey knows a lot. He can help you."

"Oh, um, thanks, but that's okay."

Henri's face fell. "That's right. Sorry, I forgot. Harvey and you…" He stopped briefly to think of the right words. "Harvey's a good man. I'm sorry you met him under dire circumstances."

"He stabbed my mother."

"Yes, I know," said the Alpha gravely, his voice distasteful. "But, if he would have known, he wouldn't even touch her let alone harm her."

"Still doesn't change the fact that's she in the hospital," said Scott.

Henri bowed his head. "Yes, I know that too."

They settled into silence. Scott snuck a look to the doors where he father promised he would guard. He wondered if his father was listening in on them this very moment.

"So, moving onto a happier note," said Henri. "What do you like to do?"

"For fun?"

Henri nodded.

"You mean, besides wolfing out and attacking innocents?" quipped Scott, his tone laced with resentment. "I play lacrosse."

"Lacrosse?"

"It's like hockey, but—"

"I know what lacrosse is," said Henri. "I'm just surprised that you actually play a sport. Most werewolves wouldn't even dare."

Scott was rattled. "Why not?"

"To avoid possible exposure," Henri explained. "Can't have the world go back to Middle Ages' hysteria again."

Scott thought that Beacon Hills was already experiencing the hysteria, but he kept the thought to himself. No need to get the Alpha any threatening ideas. Or worse, leave and take him with them.

"What's your position?"

"Er…I-I don't really have a stable position," said Scott. "Coach puts me in whatever position the team needs."

The Alpha scrunched up his face, rather surprised at Scott's statement. "I figured you would be the number one player, seeing as you are a werewolf."

"Well, it's complicated," said Scott, not wanting to mention his failing education.

Henri chuckled. "I can imagine. It's never easy being a teen werewolf. I remember when Harold was a teenager. Good God! He was very rebellious. Never cared for the rules or codes. Constantly got in trouble with the police for childish acts! Your grandmother, bless her soul, always had to play the referee between the two of us."

Scott believed Henri's story. He could see his teenage-father causing ruckus around France, disobeying rules, and teasing police officers for jokes. Mostly because for a brief moment, Scott saw his father's behavior mirroring his own.

There was a knock on the door and Harold stepped inside. Scott was surprisingly relieved to see his father, but the grave expression and the haunted eyes twisted his insides. Henri, however, looked annoyed.

"Need something?" Henri coolly asked.

Harold didn't even look at Scott. "Je suis désolé père. Mais, l'hôpital a appelé."

The Alpha's annoyance faded from his face and replaced with a concern shamed. "Est-ce qu'elle va bien?"

Scott couldn't understand a word they were speaking. He recognized it was French, but the only foreign language he knew was Spanish, but even that language was rocky for him. Scott kept glancing back and forth between his father and grandfather.

Though he refused to make eye contact with Scott, Harold continued speaking, but not in French. "She just got out of surgery," he said. "I was going to go visit her."

Scott knew his father spoke in English for his benefit, but the news caused him to jump out of his chair.

"I'm going!" Scott maneuvered around the chair to his father. Harold's mouth opened, but Scott shook his head. "No! I'm not staying. She's my mother!"

Harold said, "Actually, I was going take you with me." Harold slowly turned to his father. "If that's all right?"

Henri had stood up by now. His back was straightened and he stared at his son and grandson for a good moment before nodding his head. "Yes, I think it's best the two of you check up on her. When you come home, we can discuss more about the current situation."

_**BREAK**_

Harold ushered Scott out of the room and to his car. Scott eagerly hopped, wanting to have the place far behind him. Once they were a good distance away from the mansion, Scott questioned his father what his grandfather said.

"What does he mean by situation?"

Harold shrugged half-heartily. "I can only guess he meant you."

"And if I am staying here or coming to France?"

"Possibly," said Harold. "Or, if we're staying here because of you."

Scott groaned. "Either way, I don't win." Bare trees sped past Scott's window. "What were you two talking about earlier? In front of me?"

"That Melissa was out of the hospital," said Harold. "That's all."

Scott listened to his father's heartbeat. There was no skip. "Is…is she okay?"

Harold side-glanced at Scott. "I'm not quite sure. But, like you, I hope she's going to come out of it fine."

Minutes later, they arrived at the hospital. Scott ran to the doors with Harold close at his heels. The minute Scott entered the hospital doors, a nurse he recognized as one of his mother's co-workers walked up to him.

"Scott!" said the nurse, tenderly.

"Where is she?" asked Scott, glancing around at the hospital doors. "Where's my mom?"

The nurse took a deep breath. "She just got out of surgery…"

"We know," said Harold who finally caught up to Scott. "Just give us the room number."

The nurse blinked up at Harold, seemingly surprised and concerned. "W-Who are you?"

"He's my dad," said Scott, off-handily.

Harold smiled. "Now, the room?"

The nurse stared momentarily at both Scott and Harold before giving them the room number. Scott ran up the stairs and hurried to the room number. He found his mother's room and, with deep, nervous breath, pushed the door opened to discover his mother on a hospital gurney with tubes coming from her mouth, nose, and arms. She was stoic and pale almost like a corpse.

Scott's heart flitted to down. Cautiously, he approached to her bedside. He nervously checked her heart to hear it steadily beat. But, it was fainter than it usually is. Trying to hold back the tears, Scott reached for his mother's hand. It was warm, but not as warm as he once remembered.

Harold opened the door and following him into the hospital room was a white-coat doctor. The doctor turned to Harold.

"Are you Mr. McCall?" asked the doctor.

"No," answered Harold. "I'm Melissa's ex-husband." He nudged his head to Scott's direction. "He's Mr. McCall."

The doctor turned to Scott, slightly surprised to see him as a teenager rather than adult.

The suspense of the wait pushed Scott. "How is she? Will she be okay?"

Scott sensed the doctor's uneasy feeling. His heart raced and then skipped like the following words were not going to please anyone.

"Your mother lost a lot of blood," started the doctor. "Her traumatic injuries caused her to lose an excessive amount of blood. Her aorta artery was nearly severed, but our team of surgeon's managed to repair most of the damages. Everything else is up to her."

Scott rounded on the doctor, but it was Harold who spoke. "What do you mean everything else is up to her?"

The doctor sighed. "She fell into a coma," he said. "The chances of her coming out of it depend on how much her body tries to repair itself. We don't know exactly when she'll recover from it."

Scott backed away from the doctor. He turned to his comatose mother and suddenly his body was shaking. No tears formed in his eyes, but everything was getting blurry and his heart raced faster than before. He could hear the door opening and closing. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Scott."

The young werewolf snapped and pushed his father away from him. "Get out!"

Harold lifted his hands up in the air. "Scott," he said, calmly. "You gotta control yourself. We're at the hospital."

Scott's raged exploded. "Seriously?! That's all you're worried about? Exposure? Mom's in a coma! She nearly died! And…and all you can think about is EXPOSURE!"

Harold checked the door, but no one was barging into the room. "Scott, listen to me closely, you have to calm down! Rage will cause you to become bloodthirsty! Would your Mom want you to go on a killing spree?"

Scott's chest heaved. He wanted to attack his father. To make him feel his pain. To make him trade places with his mom. But, his father was right about the rage. It would make him hunt for blood and he couldn't betray the morals his mother taught him.

"Go," he murmured. "Please just…just go."

Harold, depressed, nodded understandably and left the hospital room to give Scott alone time with his mother. He said one last thing to Scott before exiting, "I'm truly sorry Scott."

Scott didn't acknowledge his father's statement. He dropped into a nearby chair and held onto his mother's hand like she did for him when he was a scared.

_**BREAK**_

Harold walked down the hospital's hallway, away from Melissa's room. He was going to return home, without Scott. His father would implore him to fetch Scott from the hospital, but Scott didn't need to deal with his other relatives. All the stress he experienced in two days needed to simmer and Harold figured the best way was for him to be by his mother's bedside.

He was prepared to exit the hospital completely, when he heard a voice that caught his attention.

"I see Scott's troubled by the news."

Harold sighed. "She's in a coma. What did you expect?"

Harold turned to see Peter Hale sitting in one of the multiple waiting rooms the hospital provided. He walked over and took a seat next to him.

Peter adjusted his posture and fixed his jacket. "I expected to see a few scratches and bruises on you," he said. "Scott's emotions get the better of him sometimes."

"I figured he would attack me too, but, he's exhausted."

"From meeting the folks?"

"That and the near decapitation."

Peter's interest perked. "I guess your father didn't realize he was sentencing his grandson at the time."

Harold nodded. "He now knows," he said. "Wants Scott to come back after the hospital visit."

"But, you weren't planning to do that, were you?"

Harold forgot how insightful Peter was. "No. I wasn't. Scott needs to be with people he trusts at the moment. And no one from my family is on that list, including me."

A team of nurses rushed a young adult in a gurney passed them, shouting out codes as others checked for a pulse in his neck and wrist. Harold heard a faint heartbeat, but knew it would not last. The man was going to die.

His thoughts turned to Melissa and how she too is dancing along the borders of life and death.

"Thank you," said Harold and Peter looked over at him. "For rescuing Melissa and taking her here."

Peter accepted the gratitude with a nod. "Of course," he said. "I don't mind being the knight in shining armor."

"Seriously though," said Harold. "You probably saved her life."

"Maybe," countered Peter. "But, right now we don't know. She's in a coma."

"There's a chance she'll recover."

"A very slim chance," said Peter. "I overheard the doctors when they finished the surgery. They believe she's not going to wake up. The trauma was too much for her body."

Harold groaned. "Scott's never going to forgive me if she dies. Hell, I'll never forgive myself."

Peter paused, looked for any eavesdroppers, before turning to Harold. "You know there is a way to save her."

Harold shook his head and spoke very firm. "No."

"Why not?" insisted Peter. "She'll be alive!"

"Because I'm not going to put her through that agony," stated Harold. "No, I have to believe that she'll find a way to come back…at least for Scott's sake. I-I can't…no. No way."

Peter grudgingly accepted Harold's decision. "It's just a suggestion," he said and stood up. "Do you want me to stick around? Keep guard?"

Harold shook his head. "No. That's all right. She's not in any danger. The hunters won't come after her and I know my family won't either."

Peter hummed. "Actually…they did. They stopped by and were asking questions from the nurses. They didn't get much."

Harold's heart seized. "What?"

"They won't come back," said Peter. "They were just trying to see if it was an accident or an animal attack. You know, to check if it was related to werewolves."

Harold cursed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I figured you would be more concern with Melissa than the hunters."

Harold didn't argue. "Okay…all right. Did they find out?"

"No, the nurses refused to give out the patient's information that's not family related."

Harold let out a great sigh of relief. "Thank God! Thank…all right. Maybe I shouldn't leave Scott alone."

Peter cut him off. "Don't worry about Scott," he said. "His relationship with Allison gives him some protection."

"Yeah, but I can't leave him here unprotected," said Harold. "Either I take him back home or…"

"Get a babysitter?" suggested Peter. "From what you just said earlier, I doubt he will want to leave his mother for your family, who actually placed Melissa in the coma."

Harold pulled out his keys and gripped them tightly in his knuckles. "Yeah, I know, but I have to put Scott somewhere safe."

"Try the local jail."

Harold frowned at his friend's joke. "No, Scott needs to be with someone he trusts and someone who can protect him from hunters."

Peter shrugged. "Well, I can't really think of anyone expect for maybe Stiles, but he's a bit preoccupied a floor up."

"Nor could he really fight off an attack from hunters," added Harold and he ruffled his hair. "But, seriously, who?"

Suddenly, an image popped in his head and Harold snapped his fingers. "I got just the person."

Peter stared suspiciously at his old friend. "Okay, I'll take a bite," he said. "Who?"

_**BREAK**_

Harold returned home, dragging his feet through the front doors and to his own bedroom. Flynn asked about Melissa's health, but Harold couldn't talk about it. Flynn understood and backed out of the room as Henri marched in, demanding to know where Scott was.

"I left him at the hospital."

"WHAT?" roared Henri. "You _left_ him there? Why would you do that? Did you forget there're hunters out there!"

"He's safe," ensured Harold. "Trust me. I-I made arrangements for Scott."

"You should have brought him back here," cried Henri. "He's safer with us."

"Not to him," retorted Harold. "To him, we're dangerous. Killers. The ones responsible for putting his mother in the hospital." Harold reminded his father, who huffed, but bowed in shame. "So, I made arrangements with someone he trusts. Someone who will protect him."

"Don't worry though," continued Harold as his father wanted to argue. "It's only for a short period of time until things settle down for him and us."

"Will I be able to see him sometime?" huffed Henri. "He's my grandson, you know."

"And, he's my son!" countered Harold, "And, right now, I'm his guardian and I decided he should stay somewhere else for these next few nights. Okay?"

Henri frowned, but grunted a response that he somewhat understood. "I just want to keep him safe."

"I understand that," said Harold. "But, right now he doesn't need us. He needs familiarity."

"Will I get to see him tomorrow?"

"He has school," said Harold. "But, maybe."

It was enough to satisfy his father. As Henri went to leave Harold alone, he turned back once more to remind his eldest son. "By the way," he said. "You're still on suspension. And, I don't know if I can forgive you anytime soon."

Harold nodded. "I figured."


	38. Chapter 38: Arbutus

**Chapter 38: Arbutus***

Scott rested his head on his mother's bed. He still held her hand, never wanting to let go. He drifted through his vault of memories. He remembered the nights his parents fought. He remembered the day his father left. He remembered the day Stiles sobbed after his mother's funeral. He remembered the night he was bitten. He remembered the day Allison broke his heart. He remembered the day Jackson died. He remembered the day he nearly died. And, the worse of them all, he remembered his mother's face the moment Harvey attacked her. It was so clear like a film. The slow motion, his mother's terrified and exasperated expression as she dropped like a broken puppet.

He stared straight ahead at plain wall. As his eyes focused on the wall's basic décor, Scott realized the wall was no longer dull. In fact, he no longer saw the wall. All he saw was blood dripping down from the ceiling to the floor, flowing like a waterfall.

Scott backed away. Where was the blood coming from? He had to move his mother out of the room. As Scott reached to move the hospital bed, footsteps caught his attention. At the door, stood a lone wolf.

Thick white coat and bright water blue eyes, the wolf was stoic as its attention rested on Scott. It didn't bark, growl, or howl. It watched with interest for a moment then loped over to him. With a glint in its eyes, the wolf howled.

The howl was piercing and frightened Scott. He violently woke up to someone standing next to him.

"Scott!"

Scott's eyes refocused and realized that Derek was peering down at him. Scott jerked his head to the wall, where it's plain décor remained clean. He checked the door, but there was no wolf either. Scott returned to his mother to find he was still holding her hand.

Scott blinked furiously and rubbed his eyes. "What…what happened? Why are you here?"

"You were asleep," said Derek. "And your father called me," he added as if that explained everything.

His face scrunched as he questionably stared at the Alpha. "Why?"

"To take you home," answered Derek.

"I-I wanna stay."

"I know you do," said Derek, smoothly like he was talking to a three year old, "but the hospital won't let you. So, come on."

Scott, too tired to argue, kissed his mother's forehead. "I'll come back tomorrow," he whispered to his mother.

Derek waited by the door and, together they left the hospital. Scott buckled himself in Derek's car and dropped his head against the window. Derek pulled out of the hospital and headed to Scott's house.

Upon arrival, Scott was surprised to see the amount of damages the Originals done during the attack. The front door was off its' hinges, roof tiles had slid off and fallen in front of their lawn, and windows had cracked lines across like someone dragged claws across it.

Carefully, Scott crossed the threshold and into the hallway where he remembered how his mother shoved him up the stairs as werewolves nipped at their heels. Derek came in after him and he frowned at the destruction.

Derek didn't say anything, but Scott knew what he thought about the incident. He sensed the older werewolf's sorrow like this personally happened to him. Scott pushed the feelings away and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Claw marks dug into Scott's door and it too was off its hinges.

Scott stopped at the doorway and stared. His bedroom was completely destroyed. His desk lay in a crumbled heap along with his desk and dresser. But, his belongings didn't disturb him. It was bloodstain on the floor.

Derek stepped next to Scott and his eyes were immediately drawn to the bloodstain.

"Is that where—"

"Yes." Scott moved across his bedroom and gathered a few of his remaining belongings that were not damaged.

He took his backpack, his wallet, and a few of his clothes. He had no idea how long he was going to stay with Derek, but he packed a week's worth of clothes, stuffing them in his backpack along with his books. Derek tried to block Scott the sight of his mother's blood. But, Scott could still smell her blood.

"Come on," advised Derek. "We better get going."

Scott grabbed one last thing and pocketed it. Derek ushered him out and back into the vehicle. Scott gave one last, fleeting look to his mother's home. His intestines cringed and he turned away. Derek hit the accelerator and the car jumped back onto the road.

Scott hugged his backpack close to his chest. His stomach bubbled and uneasiness welled inside his heart. "Pull over."

Derek looked over. "What? Why?"

"Just pull over!"

Derek wheeled the car off to the side and placed it in park. Scott got out and ran a bit ways from the car. Then he bent over and puked. Derek unbuckled his seatbelt and strolled to his side.

Scott coughed up the last chunk out, spitting the remaining distaste out of his mouth. Taking deep breaths, Scott cried. "It's my fault," he mumbled. "It's all my fault."

Derek was bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

Scott shivered underneath the chilled breeze. Derek checked Scott's face and then placed a hand on the young werewolf's forehead. "Let's get back into the car," said Derek.

He led Scott to the car and helped him into the seat. Tears slid down Scott's cheeks and Derek pulled the car back onto the road.

Derek sighed. "It's not your fault, Scott."

Scott shifted in the seat uncomfortably, his eyes on Derek. "I didn't protect my Mom," he uttered. "They were after me. Not her. And now she's in a coma. How is that not my fault?"

"Because your mother loves you enough to sacrifice her life for you," explained Derek.

"Doesn't make me feel any better," croaked Scott, a tear splashing on his shirt. "I…I wish it was me," Scott's face crinkled. "I wish I was in the coma."

Derek sighed heavily as Scott sobbed into his backpack. He glanced at Scott and then breathed deeply. "When my family's house caught fire and killed my family members, all I could think about was how they died because of me. I was the one who dated…_her_," Derek's jaw clenched. "Gave _her_ the information needed to kill my family. To destroy my family."

Scott lifted his head as Derek continued his sobered story. "All those years after, I-I…it hung over my head. I kept wishing to be dead. Kept wishing that it was me who died rather than my sister, my parents, cousins, and aunts and uncles. Hell, I dreamt that I was dead and they were alive. But, I would wake up the next morning still alive and them dead."

"I never really managed to forgive myself for their deaths," said Derek. "I traveled across the States to find a way to…a way to redeem myself."

"I didn't find it," admitted Derek. "Each day that passed, I got angrier not only at myself, but at everyone. I was falling a part."

Derek twisted his hands around the steering wheel. "Then, of course, my sister was murdered and you know the rest."

"Either way, Scott," said Derek and Scott lifted his head to listen. "Don't go down that road. It doesn't lead anywhere good. I know."

Through the blurriness of his tears, Scott considered Derek's story. Though guilt fueled his mind, he looked at Derek's life. Living alone, emotionless, and always seeking for something he can never truly have: family. Unlike Derek, Scott still had family, though he considered that family to be strangers.

Derek turned into an old complex near downtown. Scott peered outside the window and at the building. "Where are we?"

"My home," said Derek and Scott raised an eyebrow at him. "What? You thought I lived in that subway?"

Scott half-shrugged. Derek huffed. "That's for training. I prefer to keep my bedroom and werewolf practices separate."

As Derek opened his door, Scott spoke, "Did you ever find your redemption?"

Derek paused, staring down at his hand on the door handle. His shoulders hunched over in a brooding manner. He turned back around to Scott, his face pensive.

"Yeah, I did," he said then he got out of the car and slammed it close.

Scott grabbed his belongings and followed Derek to the top level of the building. Derek pulled a big metal door back, revealing a roomy loft with little furnishing. Scott stepped into the room and Derek closed and locked the metal door, setting the alarm.

"Okay, this is the loft," said Derek. "You'll have to sleep on the couch for tonight."

Derek pointed to a nearby sofa; long enough that Scott didn't have scrunch his body into a ball.

"I have blankets and can find a pillow around here somewhere," he said. "Isaac is in the next room over and he sometimes gets up early for God knows what."

"Isaac lives with you?" queried Scott.

Derek nodded. "After his father's death, who else did he have? Anyway, tomorrow, I'll get some sort of blow up bed and other things for you."

Scott moved to the couch and dropped his belongings. "Do you know how long I am staying here for?"

"I don't know," said Derek, honestly. "Maybe for a few days to a week."

Scott wiped his nose with his sleeve, snot still leaking. "Okay. So, my Dad didn't say anything else?"

Derek shook his head. "No, nothing. But, you have school tomorrow."

"I don't feel like going to school."

"Then, your Dad will have to call the school," said Derek. "Either way, I'm exhausted and heading to bed. If you're hungry the kitchen's over there."

Scott thanked Derek when he returned with a pillow and blanket. Once Derek left, Scott was alone in the main room of the loft. He glanced around Derek's new place. It wasn't like his home. It was dull and reminded Scott of an industrial park rather than a proper home.

Scott laid himself down to sleep on the couch, staring straight ahead at the yellowing wall. He tried to close his eyes, but all he could see was his mother's pained expression.

"Please," he prayed, softly. "Whoever is listening, please save my mother."

_**BREAK**_

Harold walked into Melissa's hospital room with a bouquet of red, white, and pink carnations. He was glad he purchased a vase and, adding water, he placed the vase of flowers on the stand nearby her bed.

He settled into the chair that Scott once occupied. He watched her chest slowly move up and down in a slow rhythm. Her heart monitor beat, but Harold didn't need to see it know how slow her heart rate was. Since yesterday, he sensed that she hadn't improved. She had worsened.

The door opened and the doctor from last night entered. "Hello again," he said. "The flowers are nice."

Harold stood up. "I need to know the chances. I know you said yesterday that you don't have enough to guess the outcome. But, now?"

The doctor looked at her folders and checked the vitals on the machine. "Doesn't look like she improved in the last twenty-four hours. Chances of her coming out of the coma are less."

Harold sighed frustratingly. "So, basically less than fifty percent."

"Less than twenty percent."

The doctor apologized and informed him the hospital was going to do their best to treat her. Once the doctor left, Harold sunk back to the seat. He caressed her hand, a doleful look on his face.

"So, this is your wife?"

Harold turned to the door and saw his father standing in the doorway, staring interestedly at Melissa's face.

"I guess ex-wife to be lawfully correct," said Henri and he closed the door behind him. "She's beautiful. I can only imagine how she looks when she had more life in her."

"Get out," growled Harold.

Henri wandered over to the opposite bedside while Harold eyed him like a hawk. The Alpha sniffed and wrinkled his nose, backing away from the bed.

"Oh…she's dying," said Henri. "But, I think you already know that."

Harold frowned. "There's still—"

"Her life is wasting away," stated Henri, and then sympathetically spoke. "Does Scott know?"

"I don't know. Maybe, but I hope not."

Henri surveyed his son in a scrutinizing way. "Any human would think that you didn't want to hurt your son's feelings that his mother is dying, but you," he said. "You're thinking of something that he would not approve of."

Harold turned away from his father to Melissa.

"Have you decided?"

"Not yet," replied Harold. "But, I don't think I can do it."

"Because…"

Harold didn't answer. He tucked in Melissa's blankets and kissed her on the cheek. "Keep fighting Mel," he whispered in her ear.

Harold opened the door and waited for his father to come with him. Henri, however, didn't move.

"I don't understand," said Henri.

Harold took the bite. "What don't you understand?"

Henri gazed at his son. "You clearly love this woman," he said. "What happened?"

Harold paused for a long time, contemplating on what to say to his father. "A lot."

Henri studied his son for another moment, before accepting the answer and following him out of the hospital room. He patted Harold on the back and then lovingly gripped his shoulder.

"Don't worry son," Henri said. "She's family now. She's in good hands."

_**BREAK**_

Scott slept well into the early afternoon before waking up to Derek opening the metal door to come into the loft.

"Morning sleeping beauty," said Derek, carrying a few bags and a box with the words "blow-up mattress" labeled on the side.

Scott stretched and yawned before standing up to follow Derek to the kitchen portion of the loft. "How long have I been out?"

"Nearly ten hours," announced Derek, "You were completely out."

"I thought you said I had school?"

"Your Dad stopped by," explained Derek and Scott was now fully awake. "Came by to check on you. He called the school for you."

"Did he say anything? Did he tell—"

"No. Your Dad wasn't exactly the chatting guy. He came in and out. Very quickly. In fact, he scared Isaac."

Scott could see people being afraid of his father without the knowledge of his werewolf heritage. In fact, many probably suspect he's in a mob.

"So, nothing then?"

"Nothing," confirmed Derek. "Anyway, I got you a few things."

Derek started pulling out towels, shampoo, toothbrush, and other items. "If you're staying here for a few nights, I had to get you some things that I thought you would need." He picked up the box. "And here's your new bed. You can blow it up whenever."

Scott looked at the picture of the blow-up bed and then set it down with all the other purchased items.

"What time is it?"

"Three. Why?"

"I want to see my Mom," said Scott. "Where's your bathroom?"

Derek pointed to a nearby door. "Do you need me to drive you?"

Scott shook his head. "Nah, I'll be okay. I wanna walk."

Scott cleaned himself and headed for the hospital by foot. He stopped at a nearby flower shop and purchased a bouquet of flowers the attendant recommended. Carrying flowers, he journeyed to the hospital with the fiery hope of improvement

Upon arrival, he sensed no other supernatural presence, which greatly eased him. He trekked though the hoards of nurses, coated doctors, and patients. Outside the door to his mother's room, Scott stopped. He leaned closer to the door and paused. There was no heartbeat.

Fear drained his soul and the blood in his heart. _No_ he thought and he burst into the hospital. No one was there. His mother's room was empty. No machines, blankets, and, especially, no mother.

Scott backed out of the room and sprinted to the nearest desk.

"Where's my mom?" he demanded to the nurse on the opposite side of the desk.

She had a phone in her hand, but when she saw Scott's panic face, she lowered the phone. "I'm sorry, who's your mother?"

"Melissa McCall," said Scott. "She was in room, uh, 411. But, she's not there anymore. Did something happen? She's…she's not…"

The nurse held up a finger and began typing away on the computer. Scott waited anxiously, scanning the nurse's face to see any flicker of emotion that will give him an answer.

The nurse double-clicked and read the screen. "It appears your mother was transferred."

Scott's brows wrinkled forward. "Transferred? What do you mean transferred? Where?"

The nurse checked the computer again. "Er…Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center."

"Why was she transferred? Who ordered the transfer?"

The nurse read and rolled the mouse down. "The transfer was approved by a Mr. Harold…"

And that was all Scott heard before he turned away from the nurse and marched out of the hospital.

*_The word "Arbutus" actually means, "You are the only one Loves" or "You are the only one I love"_ _The Arbutus flower can be found in the Mediterranean, western Europe, and North America._


End file.
